Five years into our marriage, Chris knelt in the pouring rain outside my mansion, soaked to the bone, weeping as she begged me to save her. She claimed a failed investment had buried her in colossal debt. If I’d just mortgage the historic estate my parents left me, she could weather the storm. To spare me from her mess, she even suggested a fake divorce, promising we’d remarry once the debt was clear. My eyes red, I frantically searched for the property deed that night, terrified that a single moment’s delay would push her past her breaking point. Until I accidentally knocked her phone off the couch. The screen lit up, displaying a message she’d sent to her ex-boyfriend: “That fool Carter has totally fallen for it. Once I get my hands on the historic estate, I’ll build a French castle with a rose garden for our wedding home.” I stood rooted to the spot, every drop of blood in my body turning to ice. There was no bankruptcy. From the day she married me, she had been plotting to get her hands on my parents’ inheritance. Watching the woman kneeling in the rain outside, putting on a show of deep affection, I suddenly laughed. Ten minutes later, I knocked on the door of Chris’s aunt, Anhel, the multi-billion dollar head of the Thompson Group. I placed the property deed on her desk, a smile playing on my lips. “Ms. Anhel, I heard you were looking for a legitimate husband?”

Chris knelt in the torrential rain for three whole hours. Lightning tore across the night sky, illuminating her pale, yet still beautiful, face. I rushed out, holding an umbrella, my chest tightening with each beat of my heart. “Chris, are you crazy? You can’t be in the rain with your stomach condition!” She gripped my hand tightly, her eyes bloodshot, her voice a strained whisper. “Carter, I’m ruined.” “The company’s investments failed; our cash flow has completely dried up. It’s a three-billion-dollar hole, and if I can’t fill it in three days, I’m going to jail.” My mind buzzed. Three billion dollars? “Carter, the lawyer said the safest way is to divorce immediately. I’ll bear the debt alone, I won’t drag you into this.” “But Carter… I don’t want to go to jail. Could you temporarily mortgage the estate your parents left you to the bank?” “Once this blows over, I promise I’ll buy it back.” Her grip on my arm was terrifyingly strong. I fell silent. That historic estate was the only tangible memory my parents had left me before they died in a car crash. Every blade of grass, every tree, held memories of them. “Carter, are you really just going to watch me go to jail?” Her voice trembled. My throat bobbed a few times. Five years of marriage. I couldn’t just stand by and watch her go down. “…Fine. We’ll take care of the paperwork tomorrow.” Chris shuddered, gripping my hand tightly. “Carter, I’ll repay you for this my entire life.” In that moment, I truly believed we were facing a test of life and death, together. Until late that night, Chris was feverish and fast asleep, her phone having slipped into the gap of the bed, its screen constantly lighting up. Fearing it might be an urgent call from a company executive, I picked it up and glanced at it. Just one glance, and the blood in my veins instantly froze. On the screen was a message from “Leonardo”: “Chris, have you signed the divorce papers? That estate is in such a perfect location. I want to tear it down and build a French castle with a rose garden as our wedding gift.” Leonardo. Chris’s unforgettable ex-boyfriend. My fingers turned icy as I tapped to scroll up through the chat history. The further I scrolled, the more my heart felt like it was being sawed open by a dull knife. “That fool Carter has totally fallen for it; we’ll handle the divorce and mortgage tomorrow.” “The three-billion-dollar fake accounts are perfectly clean; Anhel won’t suspect a thing.” “I’m sorry you had to wait all these years, Leonardo.” “Once the estate is ours, Carter will have no more use.” Each sentence was like a poisoned dagger stabbing into my heart. It turned out, from start to finish, it was all a meticulously planned deception. I sat in the darkness for a long time, unmoving. At the moment of complete betrayal, a person can’t even cry. I pulled out my phone and took pictures of the chat history, page by page. Then I put her phone back where I found it and turned to look at Chris, sleeping peacefully on the bed. A faint smile still lingered on her lips; she was probably dreaming of living in that French castle with Leonardo. I looked into the darkness and let out a cold, sarcastic laugh. Chris, you want to use my lifeblood to warm another man? Fine. I’ll make you watch, with your own eyes, who truly ends up destroyed.

The next morning, when Chris woke up, I was already sitting on the couch, holding the divorce papers. She froze, a flicker of uncontrollable euphoria in her eyes, quickly replaced by a guilty expression. “Carter, you didn’t sleep all night?” She reached out to touch my face, but I turned my head, avoiding her. “Let’s go to the city hall. The sooner we get it done, the sooner you can deal with your debts.” By ten in the morning, our divorce was finalized. As we walked out, Chris’s mother, Ally, was already waiting by a black Maybach. She rushed over and asked: “Carter, did you bring the property documents? Hurry, let’s go to the bank now!” Her greed was practically spilling from her eyes. I pulled my hand away, calmly looking at the mother and daughter. “The estate can’t be mortgaged today. It’s a historic landmark, so this type of asset requires review by a third-party agency before the bank will approve it.” Ally’s face changed drastically: “Why would it take so long?!” Chris also grew anxious: “Carter, what’s going on? Didn’t we agree?” “It’s the regulation. Unless you can find someone with special privileges to smooth things over with the bank. But I’m just an ordinary person, I can’t do that.” Chris gritted her teeth, her eyes darting around. She wouldn’t dare involve the Thompson family’s connections. If the true head of the Thompson Group caught wind of the three-billion-dollar fake accounts, she would be finished. “Alright. Carter, you absolutely must cooperate with the appraisal agency during this time.” She forced down the gloom in her eyes. “Don’t worry,” I nodded slightly. Not only will I cooperate, but I’ll also prepare a big gift for you. After parting ways with them, I went straight to a top-tier private investigation agency. As I walked into the lobby, I stopped. A woman stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the VIP reception room. She wore a black custom suit dress, tall and with a formidable presence. Holding a cup of black coffee, her profile was as cold and sculpted as a statue, exuding an aura of untouchable authority. Anhel. Chris’s aunt, the true power behind the Thompson Group. She took over the Thompson Group at twenty-five and doubled its empire within five years. Mention her name in all of New York, and no one dared to not feel a chill. I hadn’t expected to run into her here. She seemed to sense my gaze, turning her head slightly. Her sharp, cold eyes locked onto mine. “Carter.” She spoke, her voice clear and cool, carrying a strange sense of pressure. “Anhel.” I walked closer. “You divorced Chris.” A simple statement. My heart jolted. It had been less than two hours since we finalized the papers, and she already knew. Anhel’s lips curved into an almost imperceptible smile. “You were willing to hand over your parents’ inheritance for that three-billion-dollar fake account. Carter, where’s your head?” She knew everything. I clenched my jaw, meeting her gaze: “Ms. Anhel, since you knew it was a fake account, why didn’t you expose her?” “The Thompson Group has too many distant relatives; occasionally, we need a few minor nuisances to keep things interesting.” She said casually, “Besides, that was your wife, your money. What concern is it of mine?” “What if I don’t want to be the fool who gets sold out?” Anhel raised an eyebrow slightly, seemingly intrigued. She pulled out a sleek, black business card and handed it to me. “Tonight at nine, penthouse suite. Think carefully about what you want, then come knock.” With that, she turned and left, leaving behind only a chilling silhouette.

At nine that night, I stood promptly outside the penthouse suite door. The door opened. Anhel was wearing a black silk robe, her long hair slightly damp, less sharp than during the day, but with a more subdued, pervasive sense of authority. She offered me a glass of wine; I didn’t take it. “Ms. Anhel, what do you need me to do for you to help me?” “What makes you think I would help you?” “Chris has tampered with Thompson Group’s money. She embezzled subsidiary project funds to create those three billion dollars in fake accounts.” “Ms. Anhel needs a legitimate excuse to clean house.” A flicker of appreciation crossed Anhel’s eyes, then she took a step closer. She was slightly shorter than me, but her presence completely enveloped the entire space. “I have a hundred ways to clean house. Why would I choose the most troublesome one to cooperate with you?” “Because of Leonardo.” I looked her directly in the eye. “His father embezzled company assets, and you personally put him behind bars.” “He’s been trading on the Thompson name for profit these past few years. You despise him.” Anhel’s eyes instantly turned cold. “Chris plans to announce her succession as CEO at the subsidiary’s anniversary gala next month, and simultaneously, her engagement to Leonardo.” “If they are publicly disgraced in front of all the city’s elite, Leonardo will also be utterly humiliated.” She looked at me, and after a long moment, she suddenly smiled. The smile was cold, yet carried a deadly allure. “Carter, it seems you want them utterly ruined, never to recover.” She walked to the desk, picked up a document, and tossed it in front of me. It contained all the evidence of Chris’s embezzlement, fabricated debts, and the purchase of a private island for Leonardo. Every transaction was clearly detailed. “This is just the down payment,” Anhel’s voice whispered in my ear. “If you want more crucial leverage, you’ll have to pay a price.” “What price?” “Be my man.” My pupils constricted: “Ms. Anhel, you must be kidding.” “I never joke.” She took a step closer, trapping me against the floor-to-ceiling window. “If you want to crush Chris, you need a patron who stands higher and more firmly than her. And I am the only choice.” She looked up at me slightly, her eyes as deep as the ocean. “What, still have feelings for her?” “No. I wish she were dead.” “Then prove it to me.” She curved her lips, her voice brushing against my ear. “Go back and continue playing the role of the devoted ex-husband. When the time is right, I will personally pull you out of the game.” I leaned against the glass, my heart pounding like thunder. As long as I could send those two to hell, I would accept this devil’s bargain.

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Five years ago, after being diagnosed with severe depression, an alter ego named Osman appeared in my body. On odd-numbered days, I’m awake, and on even-numbered days, he is. He’s vibrant and charismatic, while I’m quiet and reserved. My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Williams, and my fiancée, Alice, all prefer him, reserving all their affection for his days. But as time went on, they grew greedier. Every time I was awake, they’d bring me a sedative. If I kept taking them, my core personality would be completely erased. To make them happy, I always took the sedatives. Until today, my birthday, Alice once again handed me the medicine. I looked at her, my eyes red, pleading, “Alice, this time, can I not take the medicine?” She frowned slightly, her voice laced with reluctant cruelty: “Don’t be silly. Osman is going skiing tomorrow; you need more rest.” It turned out all her kindness to me was just her way of maintaining this body for Osman. The bitter pill slid down my throat, swallowing my years of love along with it. Alice, I wish you both happiness. This body, I don’t want it anymore.

Her brow relaxed. “The doctor said this course of medication will help you sleep soundly, and Osman will wake up feeling better tomorrow.” “He needs an early start tomorrow, so you should rest early today.” “Is his ski trip more important than my birthday?” Alice paused for half a second, her gaze hardening. “Davis, don’t compare things like this.” “I’m not comparing.” “You are. Every time you bring up Osman, you act like I owe you something.” I looked at her. “Don’t you?” Her expression stiffened, then her voice softened, “He’s a part of you. Don’t always get hung up on little things.” “I know it’s hard for you to take the medicine, but once you’ve recovered in a few days, I’ll take you to the beach to celebrate your birthday, okay?” She promised a future, then stared at me for a few more seconds. “You’re unhappy about your birthday today, isn’t it because of the cake?” I said nothing. The cake was a Strawberry Napoleon, Osman’s favorite, but I’m allergic to strawberries. When Alice picked out the strawberry for me, she said, “See, I remember you like sweets.” She did remember, but she remembered the wrong person. “I’ll have my assistant order you a new one tomorrow.” “No need.” “Now you’re just being dramatic.” She raised a hand, intending to caress my face. I flinched. Her hand missed, and her expression instantly turned cold. “Davis, you’ve taken the medicine. Don’t throw another tantrum.” My mom’s hushed voice came from outside the door: “Alice, did Davis take it?” Alice glanced at me. “Yes, he did. Davis is asleep; you both should get some rest too.” “Thank you for your trouble.” My mom’s voice was gentle. Alice closed the door, the click of her heels fading into the distance. Once I was sure she was gone, my mom sighed in relief. “That’s good.” My dad’s voice was cold. “After tonight, the medication will completely suppress the core personality. Osman finally won’t have to suffer anymore.” My mom quickly said, “Keep your voice down! What if Alice finds out the truth and gets soft, ruining everything?” “If she knows we’re drugging Davis, our alliance with the Andersons would be ruined!” “What are you afraid of?” My dad snorted. “Dr. Peter said if we drag this out any longer, we’ll lose both of them.” “Osman is outgoing, lively, and incredibly charming. Only he can take over our Williams family business and secure the Anderson alliance.” “Davis’s gloomy nature would only drag down the entire family!” Just outside the door. I listened to my own parents’ secret judgment, the bitterness in my throat slowly rising. Soon after, pain began in my chest. It wasn’t a sharp, cutting pain; it was like fine needles piercing my brain, meticulously pulling out my memories and consciousness one by one. I bit down on the bedsheet, convulsing with pain, every breath tasting of blood. In the middle of the night, Alice returned. I closed my eyes, hearing her walk to the bedside. “Davis, are you alright?”

I was drenched in cold sweat from the pain, unable to respond. She stood there for a long time, seemingly believing I was fast asleep. A soft clink sounded on the bedside table. “If the medicine is bitter, have a candy.” “Don’t always frown; Osman will have a headache when he wakes up tomorrow.” I opened my eyes; she had already turned away. “Alice.” I called out to her. She stopped. “Is the candy for me, or for this body?” She didn’t turn back, her silhouette distant. “What’s the difference?” I forced a smile. “None.” The door closed again. The candy lay on the bedside. She had bought me this candy five years ago, when her startup was at its toughest. The wrapper was still blue and white. I reached out and swept it into the trash can. In the drawer were a few things that only belonged to me on my days. A spare phone with a shattered screen, a notebook filled with intricate details of Alice’s company’s financial vulnerabilities. And the tie clip she had bought me before. I put them all into a trash bag. When the pain grew intense, I paused to retch for a while. Before dawn, I finally finished packing my things. In the morning, my mom pushed the door open, carrying a set of skis. “Osman, hurry up and try on the new board…” I sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at her calmly. Her voice abruptly stopped, and the skis clattered to the floor. My dad squeezed in behind her. Seeing my face, he blurted out, “How are you still awake?!” “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” My mom’s face drained of color, her hands trembling violently. “How can this be? It’s an even-numbered day; Osman should be awake!” My dad lowered his voice. “Did you not finish the medicine?” “Alice made sure I drank it.” My dad immediately pulled out his phone and dialed a number, walking onto the balcony and speaking in a hushed tone. “Dr. Peter, what’s going on? Why is he still awake?” “That experimental drug… yes, the project Alice invested in, the data for that project can’t have any errors!” Whatever was said on the other end, my dad’s face changed. After hanging up, he looked at my mom. “We can’t let Alice know.” My mom pressed his arm. “If she knows we added something to the medicine, our business will be completely ruined.” She turned to me, a momentary look of embarrassment in her eyes. “Davis, Mom knows you resent us.” “Yeah.” She froze, clearly surprised I’d admit it. I used to always say I didn’t resent them. The year I was diagnosed, Osman woke up for the first time. He smiled and hugged my mom, sweet-talking her for half an hour. My mom froze, then her eyes welled up. “This is my son.” I stood by, seeing the disappointment in her eyes. She didn’t speak, but I understood. Davis, you’re too gloomy; you suffocate people. You can’t offer any emotional support; all you do is stay up late looking at reports. From then on, I endured for five years. They made me shift my birthday to one of his days so we could celebrate together. They cleared out my bedroom balcony so Osman could store his skis and gaming chair there. Whenever there was a business dinner, she’d make me take sleeping pills, forcing me into a trance so Osman could take over, socialize for her, and take all the drinks. Once, on one of his days, Osman even used my account to text Alice, claiming I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday, so she wouldn’t feel awkward. Alice believed it. That year, on my birthday, she didn’t even call. I thought, in the end, I’d earn my family’s and lover’s sympathy, but they just resented that I hadn’t disappeared completely enough. “Give me your phone.” My dad walked over, reaching out. “Why?” “You’re emotionally unstable right now. Don’t go contacting Alice.” I handed over my phone. The quiet click of the lock echoed in the room. I sat back on the bed, looking at the empty balcony. There used to be an old film camera there, one I’d saved up for ages to buy. On my days, I’d clean the lens. On his days, Osman, complaining it took up too much space, threw it and its film cartridges into the recycling bin. He always claimed he didn’t know anything. But every time I liked something, it would disappear on his days.

At noon, the lock clicked open. Alice pushed the door in, carrying a few paper bags, her voice holding its usual indulgent tone: “Osman, why are you still lounging in bed?” My dad followed behind, his face stiff, trying to stop her but failing. “Alice, listen to me…” Alice ignored him, walking directly to the bedside. But the moment her eyes met mine, the smile on her face froze abruptly. “Davis? It’s an even-numbered day. Why are you here? Where’s Osman?” “I’m sorry to disappoint you, he didn’t wake up.” She stood there, stunned. The bags were half-open, revealing a ski suit and a bottle of fir-scented men’s cologne. She had bought them for Osman. Osman complained white tea was too bland and only wore this intensely bold cologne. Realizing she had mistaken me, Alice subconsciously pulled the paper bags back, a flicker of awkwardness crossing her expression. My dad quickly explained from behind, “Davis has a bit of a fever; it might have affected the medicine’s absorption and the rotation.” Alice frowned. “If he has a fever, call a doctor. Davis, did you deliberately not take your medicine on time, just to keep Osman from coming out?” I looked at her. “You think I’m stealing his time?” “What else?” Her voice turned cold. “Today was his long-anticipated ski day, and a crucial deal for Anderson Group to acquire a key land parcel. You clearly knew…” “I didn’t know.” I cut her off. “All I know is that from last night until now, I was in agony, practically dying.” She gripped the paper bag handles so tightly her knuckles were white. “Davis, don’t try to scare me like that.” “Would you be scared?” She reached out and grabbed my wrist, not allowing me to pull away. “I know you’re upset about your birthday yesterday, but Osman has genuinely helped the company a lot these past few years. He’s simply more charming than you.” “Just listen, don’t throw a tantrum. Hurry and give up the body. In a few days, on one of your days, I’ll take you to the beach to celebrate your birthday.” I lowered my eyes to her hand. “Which day will you take me? On my day, or on his day?” Her throat tightened. “Davis, don’t be like this.” “See, you can’t answer.” She suddenly tightened her grip. “What exactly are you upset about?” Pain shot up from my wrist bone. I pulled my hand away expressionlessly. Alice’s hand hung in mid-air. “You’re pulling away from me?” “It hurts.” Her expression softened. “I didn’t use much force.” “Hmm.” “Davis, you’re getting more and more perfunctory with your words.” I looked at her, my patience snapped. “Don’t you love it when I’m sensible? What, you’re not happy now?” My mom quickly intervened. “Alice, you should go back to the company. Osman’s… ski trip, you should cancel it first.” Alice didn’t move. My dad also said, “Alice, we’ll watch Davis.” Alice didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to me, her voice tinged with condescension. “Do you want me to stay and keep you company?” In the past, I would have immediately nodded. I would have swallowed all my grievances, just to have her sit by the bed with me for a while. But now I just said, “No need. It would only bother you.” Her hand, clutching the paper bags, stiffened, as if she hadn’t expected me to refuse. A flicker of shock crossed her usually poised face. But she quickly masked it, letting out a cold laugh. “Fine, whatever.”

The door slammed shut. As I moved a storage box from the bottom of the closet, my fingertips brushed against a worn jewelry box. I opened it; it was empty. That was a mechanical watch Alice bought for me with her first profits, the year she first started her company. She said she couldn’t afford a good one then, but would get me a Patek Philippe someday. At the time, I wore it on my wrist, reluctant to take it off even when I slept. Later, when Osman woke up and saw the watch, he complained it was uncomfortable and looked cheap, and he tossed it carelessly into the river. Alice rushed over that day, and Osman hugged her waist, whining playfully: “Alice, I didn’t mean to. I just thought that cheap watch didn’t suit your current status. If you take me to business meetings, people will laugh at you.” She stroked his head. “If the old one’s gone, it’s gone.” When I woke up, I questioned her, “That was a gift from you.” Alice frowned, her voice impatient. “Davis, it was just a few hundred dollars. Don’t embarrass Osman. Tomorrow, I’ll have my secretary send you a Patek Philippe.” She did send it. On his days, Osman would wear that Patek Philippe, post pictures on Ins, captioning them: “Feels good to be favored.” I didn’t like the post. On my days, the expensive watch lay on the dressing table. Alice said, “See, the new one suits your current status better.” I asked her, “Do you remember what was engraved on the old watch?” She was silent for a long time. “Davis, people can’t always live in the past.” I threw the empty jewelry box into the trash. My tablet lit up, a memo popping up with a schedule reminder. Next Monday: Watch the sunrise with Alice at the beach. The note beneath read: Dr. Peter said after tonight, the integration will be complete. Finally no more waiting for his days! That was Osman’s smiley face. I looked at the words, my fingertips tingling. He knew everything. He was even looking forward to my death. As night fell, I started coughing up blood. Not just a little, but great gushes. “Davis, open the door!” Alice hammered on the door from outside. My mom frantically stopped her. “Alice, he’s asleep.” “I hear something! Move!” “He’s throwing a tantrum and broke something, don’t go in…” “Keys!” As the lock clicked open, I was leaning against the bed, vomiting blood. The carpet, the sheets, all stained dark red. Alice stood at the doorway, her pupils constricted sharply. “Davis, what happened to you?” I looked up at her, my vision somewhat blurred. “Why are you here?” She rushed forward, pulling me up from the floor, her voice tight. “I’m taking you to the hospital!” My mom followed in, clinging to her arm. “Alice, you can’t take him!” “He’s spitting blood, and you’re telling me not to care?!” Alice’s eyes were bloodshot. She pushed my mom away, about to rush out. My dad abruptly blocked the doorway, shouting loudly: “Alice! If you take him to the hospital today, if they use a stomach pump, Dr. Peter’s medication will be completely disrupted!” “Osman’s personality would be damaged, and he might never return!” Alice froze, her feet rooted to the spot. My mom cried, kneeling on the floor and clinging to her leg. “Alice, just this one night, please!” “Davis is only bleeding because of a rejection reaction to the medicine. He just needs to pull through this night.” “But if Osman misses tonight, we’ll lose him completely!” The muscles in her face twitched imperceptibly, and her arm around me instantly stiffened. I reached out my blood-stained hand and gently tugged her shirt. “Alice, I’m in so much pain.” This was the first time in five years I had cried out to her. Her voice caught in her throat. She looked down at me. I said, “Save me.” She only needed to take one step forward, just one step. I watched her fingers tremble. Just a little more, and she could touch my face. But she stopped.

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My destination wedding with Mason was supposed to be a small, intimate getaway with both of our parents. But on the day of our flight, I waited at the airport terminal for what felt like hours. When Mason finally showed up, he brought his childhood best friend, Eve, her parents, and about seven or eight of her extended relatives. Every single one of them held a first-class boarding pass. Except for my parents. I looked at Mason. “Where are my parents’ tickets?” He didn’t even look up as he helped Eve’s mother push her designer suitcase. “We ran out of plane tickets.” “I bought them coach tickets on the Greyhound bus.” A thirty-hour Greyhound bus ride. Followed by a local shuttle, and then a ferry. My dad had just undergone major spinal surgery, and my mom got so motion-sick that even a two-hour car ride made her vomit. My voice shook. “Then why does Eve’s entire family have first-class plane tickets?” Mason frowned, looking annoyed. “Eve’s parents are getting older. They can’t handle a rough journey.” “Besides, her relatives joined us at the last minute. I couldn’t just tell them they couldn’t come.” My phone buzzed right then. It was my mom on Snapchat. Her voice was incredibly tentative, as if she was terrified of causing me any trouble. “Sweetheart, the bus is actually really nice. We’ll get there before you know it.” My throat tightened, but before I could speak, I heard my dad coughing heavily in the background. He tried to muffle the sound, whispering urgently to my mom. “Don’t tell her. It’s her wedding day. Don’t make her worry.” In that exact moment, as I looked at the cheerful, bustling crowd surrounding Mason, I realized something. This wedding didn’t need to happen.

Eve walked over to me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Kayla, please don’t be mad at Mason.” “If it makes you feel better, I can ask my aunt to give up her seat.” She paused, lowering her voice. “It’s just… my aunt has never been to a tropical island before. She’s been excited about this for months.” Mason immediately patted her hand comfortingly. “This has nothing to do with you, Eve. I made the travel arrangements.” He turned to me, his tone sharp with impatience. “Eve’s family is already here at the airport.” “I couldn’t just send them home.” One of Eve’s cousins whispered sneeringly to another. “Starting a fight over something so petty? The bride’s family is so cheap.” Mason clearly heard it. But he only said, “They didn’t mean anything by it.” “Today is our big day, Kayla. Don’t be so sensitive.” I stared straight into his eyes. “My dad just had spinal surgery, Mason. My mom gets severe motion sickness.” “And you expect them to sit on a cramped Greyhound bus for thirty hours to get to my wedding?” Mason pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stop making it sound like a tragedy.” “I sent them the exact itinerary. They just take the bus, transfer to the shuttle, and hop on the ferry. It’s very straightforward.” He said it so casually. But when I pictured my dad’s stiff, unbending spine and my mom’s face turning pale on a bumpy road, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by a fist. My phone rang again. It was my mom via FaceTime. The background was incredibly loud, filled with the chaotic noise of a busy bus terminal. She spoke softly, trying to sound upbeat. “Kayla, we’re boarding now.” “The bus is totally fine. Don’t worry about us.” A sob caught in my throat. “Mom, get off the bus right now.” “I’m buying you guys plane tickets.” My mom panicked. “No, no, don’t do that! Mason set everything up perfectly.” In the background, I heard my dad trying to suppress another harsh cough. “Don’t tell the kid,” he muttered. “It’s her wedding. Don’t ruin it.” My tears finally spilled over. “Dad, is your back hurting?” My dad forced a chuckle. “Not at all, sweetie. I feel great. Totally fine.” But a second later, an impatient voice yelled through the phone. “Hey, old man! Move it or lose it! You’re blocking the aisle!” My mom quickly apologized to the stranger. “So sorry, so sorry. His back is bad, he moves a bit slow.” My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. I could picture the scene perfectly. My dad, clutching a seat for support, unable to straighten his back. My mom, shielding their cheap suitcases, apologizing profusely to impatient strangers. Before today, they had been as excited as little kids. Two weeks ago, I went back to my parents’ house to grab my birth certificate for the marriage license. My dad was standing in front of the mirror, trying on a cheap Macy’s suit. He had saved up for a month to buy it, saying he didn’t want to embarrass me on my big day. The sleeves were a bit too long, and the shoulders didn’t fit right. But he still smiled warmly and asked me: “Sweetie, if I wear this to the island, will I make you look bad?” My mom had spent days packing homemade peanut brittle, organic berry jams, and roasted pecans into their suitcases. “We’re meeting his parents for the first time. We can’t show up empty-handed.” “Mason treats you well, so we have to show proper manners.” At the time, I laughed at how seriously they were taking it. I had told them, “Mason has arranged everything. Just relax and follow my lead.” My mom’s eyes had lit up with pride. The next day, she told everyone in the neighborhood: “My daughter is having an island wedding!” But now… They were expected to ride a grueling Greyhound bus. On the phone, my mom was still trying to soothe me. “Kayla, don’t be angry.” “Mason is a busy man. Coordinating travel for so many people is hard work.” “We’re just glad we can save you guys some money by taking the bus.” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. “Mom, get off the bus.” “I’m not getting married.”

My mom gasped in horror. “Don’t talk crazy, Kayla!” But I couldn’t listen anymore. I hung up, spun around, and started walking toward the exit. Mason grabbed my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” “To pick up my parents.” His face darkened instantly. “Our flight is boarding in ten minutes. If you leave, what happens to the wedding?” I looked at him, my gaze freezing cold. “My parents aren’t even going to be there. What wedding is there to have?” Eve’s mother let out a soft, theatrical cough. Mason immediately let go of my arm, turned around, and draped his jacket over her shoulders. “Mrs. Higgins, is the AC too cold for you?” The gesture was smooth, practiced, and incredibly caring. I stood there, suddenly feeling that even demanding an explanation was a waste of breath. He knew exactly how to care for elderly people. He knew they shouldn’t be subjected to harsh drafts or long journeys. He understood respect and comfort perfectly. But that gentleness. Was never meant for my parents. Mason turned back to me, his voice laced with annoyance. “Kayla, stop throwing a tantrum.” “I already took care of your parents.” I quietly pulled my hand away from his reach. A thirty-hour Greyhound ticket. A complicated route requiring shuttles and ferries. And my parents having to swallow their pride and pain just to protect his ego. That was his definition of “taking care of them.” Just as I reached the exit of the airport, my phone rang again. It was my mom. This time, her voice was trembling with sheer panic. “Kayla… I don’t think we can take the bus.” My heart dropped. “What do you mean?” The background was loud, dominated by the angry voice of a ticket agent. My mom whispered, her voice cracking with embarrassment. “The agent says the tickets are invalid.” “They were booked for yesterday. We can’t use them today.” “They’re kicking us out of the terminal.” My brain went completely numb. Mason said he had arranged everything. And his “perfect arrangement” was buying my parents expired bus tickets. I squeezed my phone. “Mom, where are you guys right now?” My mom quickly tried to defend him. “Kayla, please don’t blame Mason.” “He had so many tickets to book. It’s just an honest mistake.” My dad’s muffled cough came through the line again. “We’ll just wait at the station for a bit.” “It’s no big deal.” They had just been thrown out of a bus station. Standing in a strange terminal with heavy bags. And they were still making excuses for Mason. My eyes burned. I turned around and walked right up to Mason. “Did you buy my parents tickets for yesterday?” Mason’s expression flickered. “What?” I shoved the phone screen in front of his face. “They just got kicked out of the terminal.” “Is this your perfect arrangement?” Mason finally frowned. He seemed to realize that this was turning into a genuine hassle. “My assistant must have messed up the dates when booking.” “Look, don’t panic.” He whipped out his phone and made a quick call. “I’ll have my assistant drive over and pick up your parents.” “We won’t fly out today.” “I’ll rebook all of us for tomorrow.” He spoke rapidly, his tone softening slightly. He was treating this like a minor corporate hiccup. But as I watched him, my heart went completely cold. If I hadn’t pushed him. If my mom hadn’t called. Would my parents have been left sitting in a cold station, clutching their bags, waiting in vain until dark?

Eve walked over, her eyes red. “This is all my fault.” “If my family hadn’t joined last minute, your parents would have had their plane tickets.” She lowered her head, looking utterly miserable. “But my parents have never traveled far. I was just so scared they wouldn’t know how to navigate the airport alone.” Mason immediately wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder. “How is this your fault?” “Stop blaming yourself for everything.” Watching him shield Eve, a wave of pure disgust washed over me. My parents were stranded at a bus station because of his negligence. And his only reaction was annoyance. But the second Eve shed a single tear. He looked as if his entire world was in pain. Half an hour later, Mason’s assistant brought my parents to the airport. The moment my mom saw me, she tried to hide a torn plastic bag behind her back. Inside was the homemade peanut brittle she had made for the trip. It had gotten crushed during the commotion at the station, and the broken pieces were stuck to the inside of the plastic wrapper. My dad was leaning heavily on his cane, his face pale with exhaustion. But when he saw Mason, the first thing he said was: “Mason, we’re so sorry for the trouble.” “We old folks just didn’t read the ticket dates carefully.” My nose stung with tears. “Dad…” Mason merely glanced at his luxury watch. “At least we didn’t miss the flight window for tomorrow.” My mom timidly held out the torn plastic bag, offering a small, hopeful smile. “Mason, I made some peanut brittle.” “Since we’re meeting your family, I wanted to bring a little treat.” Mason looked down at the sticky, broken candy. His nose wrinkled in immediate disgust. “Mrs. Miller, the resort has five-star catering.” “We shouldn’t bring smelly, homemade stuff to the island.” “The wedding aesthetic is luxury chic. This really doesn’t fit the vibe.” My mom’s hand froze in mid-air. The eager smile on her face withered away, though she tried desperately to keep her composure. “Oh, right.” “Of course.” She quickly pulled the bag back, hiding it behind her back like a scolded child. “I won’t bring it then. I don’t want to ruin the aesthetic.” My throat felt so tight I couldn’t breathe. Across the terminal, Eve’s mother let out another soft cough. Mason immediately rushed to her side, supporting her elbow. “Mrs. Higgins, please sit down.” “Did you miss breakfast this morning?” He waved his assistant over to buy sandwiches and personally wheeled her luggage out of the way. He was gentle, attentive, and incredibly respectful. The contrast between this and how he treated my parents was night and day. Eve’s aunt, Clara, let out a soft chuckle. “Honestly, bringing homemade country food to a luxury resort is a bit much. It’s better left behind.” My mom heard her. She squeezed the plastic bag in her hand, bowing her head even lower. “We’re just ignorant. Sorry for causing trouble.” Mason didn’t even acknowledge the insult to my mother. He simply gestured to the shuttle van parked outside. “Eve’s family is quite large.” “Mr. and Mrs. Miller, why don’t you take the utility van behind us?” I looked out the window. The van behind was packed to the brim with heavy luggage, equipment, and folding chairs. It was the crew’s transport vehicle. My voice was dead cold. “My dad has a spinal injury, and you want him to ride in a cargo van?” Mason’s brow furrowed deep. “Kayla, do you have to be so difficult?” “It’s just a van with some extra bags.” “We’ll be at the resort tomorrow anyway. Do you really have to pick a fight over this right now?” I looked at him. In that moment, a harsh truth crystallized in my mind. Mason hadn’t “forgotten” to respect my parents. He simply believed they didn’t deserve it. My mom quickly grabbed my wrist. “Kayla, please don’t fight.” “We can sit anywhere. The wedding is the most important thing.” The wedding was the most important thing. Even now, they were terrified of ruining my special day. But as I looked at my dad’s pale, sweating forehead and my mom clutching her ruined homemade candy, the very last spark of love I had for Mason died.

I didn’t argue. Instead, I quietly guided my parents to a hotel right next to the airport. My dad spent the entire walk apologizing. “Kayla, I’m really fine.” “Did I make things difficult between you and Mason?” My mom held the sticky bag of candy, whispering, “Maybe we shouldn’t have come.” “I don’t want his family looking down on you because of us.” Seeing them so incredibly small and anxious broke my heart. They had done absolutely nothing wrong. Yet they were carrying all the guilt. Once we got to the hotel room, I told them to rest. Then, I pulled out my phone and canceled my flight to the resort. Instead, I booked three first-class tickets to Montana. Next, I opened WhatsApp and messaged the wedding coordinator. “Cancel the wedding.” The coordinator called me back within seconds, her voice panicked. “Kayla! The ceremony is scheduled for tomorrow! Are you absolutely sure?” I looked at my parents, who had collapsed onto the hotel bed, fast asleep from sheer exhaustion. My voice was quiet but steady. “Yes. Cancel it.” At 10:00 PM, Mason returned to the hotel room. He slammed the door, his face tight with anger. The drama at the airport had clearly ruined the mood for Eve’s family, and he was taking it out on me. He stood by the door, glaring at me. “Kayla, we all fly out tomorrow morning.” “Drop the attitude.” He paused, his tone shifting to accusation. “Eve cried for hours today.” “She thinks she’s the reason your parents didn’t get plane tickets.” “When you see her tomorrow, you owe her an apology.” I stared at him, momentarily stunned, before letting out a dry laugh. “I owe “her” an apology?” Mason scoffed. “Her family had their travel perfectly sorted out.” “Because of your little stunt, everyone had to rebook their flights.” “You made a dozen people delay their trip. Don’t you think you should say sorry?” In his mind, my parents being humiliated and thrown out of a bus station was nothing. But Eve’s family having their flight delayed by a day was an unforgivable tragedy. I looked at him. The urge to explain, to argue, to make him see reason, completely vanished. “Fine,” I said softly. Mason let out a sigh of relief, assuming he had won, and walked into the bathroom to shower. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the three digital tickets to Montana on my phone. My heart was completely quiet. In the middle of the night, a soft rustling in the living area woke me. Mason was on a hushed FaceTime call. “Eve?” “Why are you crying?” I couldn’t hear the other side, but his voice immediately softened into a tender whisper. “Don’t be scared.” “I’m coming over right now.” As the hotel door clicked shut behind him, a memory flashed in my mind. Years ago, I had a high fever in the middle of the night and called him. He had told me he had an early meeting the next morning and told me to just take some Advil and go to sleep. Back then, I had made excuses for him. “He’s just busy.” “He’s ambitious. That’s a good thing for our future.” But the truth was simple. He was entirely capable of running out in the middle of the night to comfort someone. It just was never me. The next morning, Mason returned. There was a faint smudge of pink lipstick on his collar. He didn’t seem to notice. Eve was standing right behind him, her eyes red, her voice dripping with sweet regret. “Kayla, I am so sorry about yesterday.” “I really didn’t mean to cause so much trouble for you and your family.” Mason shot me a warning glance. The message was clear: “Apologize now.” I smiled slightly and said absolutely nothing. When we arrived at the airport terminal, Eve’s family was already waiting at the first-class check-in desk. Mason handed over their passports, smoothly checking them in. Eve’s parents, her aunt, her cousins—everyone was booked in first class. When it was my parents’ turn, the agent checked the system. “Mr. Robert Miller, Mrs. Margaret Miller. You’re in basic economy.” My mom blinked, quickly waving her hands. “Economy is perfect! Really, we don’t mind.” “We can sit anywhere.” Mason stepped forward, speaking to me in a low, placating voice, clearly trying to head off another scene. “Rebooking at the last minute was tight.” “These were the only first-class seats left.” “Economy is fine for your parents. It’s only a two-hour flight anyway.” Two hours. Suddenly, he knew the flight was only two hours. Yet yesterday, he had no problem sending my parents on a thirty-hour bus ride. Eve chimed in, her voice sweet and helpful. “Maybe I should swap seats with your mom, Kayla?” Mason immediately cut her off. “No way.” “You didn’t sleep at all last night, Eve. Don’t push yourself.” I looked at the deep concern in his eyes for Eve. Then I looked at my dad’s pale, weary face. The very last thread holding me to this man snapped. The boarding announcement echoed through the terminal. The first-class passengers were called to their priority lane. Mason was busy guiding Eve’s mother and helping her father with his carry-on. Just before passing through the gate, he finally remembered to look back at me. “Kayla, take your parents and line up over there.” “See you at the resort.” With that, he walked down the priority lane with Eve’s family. My mom whispered, “Kayla, we should get in line. We don’t want to miss the gate.” I took her hand and smiled gently. “Mom, Dad.” “We’re not going to that wedding.” “I’m taking you somewhere else.” My mom’s eyes widened. “But the wedding…” Over the loudspeaker, the final boarding call for Mason’s flight echoed. I took one last look at the empty priority lane. Mason probably thought we would meet him at the baggage claim on the island. He had no idea. We would never meet again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “429577”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I’ve been painfully honest and hyper-paranoid about risk since the day I was born. My mom can watch hundreds of millions of dollars evaporate in the stock market in a single day without even blinking. My dad buys luxury high-rises the way normal people buy groceries at the corner store. And Rachel, my sister, started investing her trust fund at the age of three, becoming a ruthless market shark everyone in the business world is terrified of. Then there’s me. I’m the kind of guy who hesitates to pay extra for avocado on a sandwich. I’ve lived this ultra-wealthy life in absolute terror, always feeling like God is going to come knock on my door one day to collect interest on a loan I never asked for. So, on the night of my eighteenth birthday gala, when the real heir showed up at our front door holding a DNA test… I let out a massive sigh of relief. See? I knew it. How could a paranoid, penny-pinching guy like me ever be the actual heir to a massive empire? On the night of the gala, I stood on the stage wearing a custom designer suit worth millions, feeling completely out of place. “Dad, this fabric is itching crazy. Can I please change into something else?” My dad glared at me, his face dark, and waved the makeup artist over to touch up my face. “Arthur, remember. Your most important job tonight is to keep your mouth shut.” I pouted, metaphorically zipping my lips, and stared blankly at the bustling crowd of high-society guests below. “Honey, sometimes I really wonder if Arthur is actually ours,” my mom sighed. Before she could say anything else, the grand heavy doors of the ballroom were slammed open. A boy wearing a faded, washed-out T-shirt marched in. He held a thick manila folder high in the air, his voice echoing through the hall: “Here is the DNA test! I am the real biological son of the Sterling family! You’ve all been fooled by Arthur!” The room fell into dead silence, followed instantly by an explosion of wild whispers. “The real vs. fake heir? I knew coming tonight was a good idea! This is pure drama!” “Honestly, I always thought the Sterlings’ son was weird. He has zero ambition.” “Last time my kid asked him to invest in a tech startup, the guy looked like he was going to cry and pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his pocket! Like, what was that even supposed to do?” Hearing their gossip, I swallowed hard. Yes! Thank God. I knew it. I’m the type of person who needs a whole mental pep talk just to buy a premium sandwich. There was no way in hell I was a billionaire heir. Looking at the boy who just stormed in, I actually felt like walking over, shaking his hand, and thanking him. Before I could move, he pointed a finger at me and shrieked, “Arthur! You didn’t expect this, did you? You didn’t think I’d actually find my way here!” “You knew all along that I was the real Sterling heir! Why did you hide it?” I blinked, totally lost. What kind of fan-fiction plot was he running? I had literally never seen this guy in my life. I opened my mouth, instinctively reaching into my pocket for the little notebook I used to track my daily expenses. But after fumbling around, I realized this fancy suit didn’t have functional pockets, so I hadn’t brought it. Seeing me hesitate, the boy grew even more smug. “My name is Tyler James. But of course, it’ll be Tyler Sterling very soon.” He puffed out his chest, confidently stroking past the guests to stand right next to me, and grabbed my wrist. “Not only did you steal my life, you fake heir, but you even stole the family heirloom bracelet our father left for me!” “You did it on purpose to keep me from finding my real family, didn’t you?” I looked down at the simple metal band on my wrist in confusion, then looked at my dad. The script of this drama felt a bit off. I had been wearing this bracelet for over ten years. It wasn’t some Cartier gold piece; it couldn’t be worth more than a few bucks. “That bracelet is worth a million dollars, Arthur! You couldn’t pay it off even if you worked for the rest of your life!” “If you behave and act like my loyal dog from now on, I might consider letting you off easy.” Tyler James’s eyes were red, looking as if he were the most abused victim in the world. “Are you saying the bracelet on his wrist is yours? And that it’s worth a million dollars?” My dad set his champagne glass down. His voice was quiet. But the entire ballroom instantly fell dead silent. “Yes!” Tyler James threw his head back. “Dad, we caught him red-handed! Throw him out of the house right now!” Every eye in the room landed on me. I clenched my fists. I wanted to defend myself, but I didn’t even know where to start. After what felt like an eternity, my dad spoke. “Impossible.” “If you told me he robbed a bank, I’d believe that before I believed he had the guts to steal from you.”

Tyler James’s face turned pale. “Dad, are you seriously protecting a fake heir?” He collapsed onto his knees, tears streaming down his face. “I was kidnapped and taken to some remote mountain town when I was a kid. I barely escaped my abusive foster parents!” “I came all the way to this big city, only to find out someone else had stolen my life.” “It was you, Arthur! You, the imposter, living like royalty every day! Don’t you feel any guilt?” My face remained blank, but in my head, I was nodding along. Honestly, I had suspected I wasn’t a biological Sterling for a long time. The Sterling family was a dynasty. Everyone was a top-tier elite. My mom was a wall street shark. She could lose hundreds of millions in a day without flinching, casually telling people, “Money comes and goes, but the game is forever.” My dad was the CEO of the Sterling Group. The first thing he did every morning was swipe through his iPad to see which commercial buildings he wanted to buy. And Rachel, my sister, didn’t even need an introduction. She started investing at age three. Last year, she used her allowance to fund a green energy startup and tripled her money in six months. I was the only anomaly. When I was six, my dad gave me a black card. I casually took it to school and used it to play card-flipping games with the neighborhood kids on the dirt. Later, when I found out it had an unlimited credit line that could buy a small country, I immediately returned it to my dad, untouched. When I was eight, I found a penny on the school playground. I stood under the scorching noon sun for an hour waiting for whoever lost it. When no one showed up, I literally walked to the local police station to hand it in. I gave them the exact time, location, and a list of every ant that had crawled past the penny. I knew I didn’t fit in with the Sterling family. Even in high society, whenever people talked about me, they always rolled their eyes. “Arthur? The guy doesn’t even know the difference between a Rolex and a Swatch!” “I saw him at a charity gala once. He was literally counting the zeros on the donation board with his mouth wide open. It was hilarious.” I knew what they whispered. And honestly, I agreed with them. I mean, how could a guy like me ever be a billionaire heir? My dad chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. “Arthur once asked me for ten dollars, and he insisted on writing a formal promissory note for it.” “And you’re saying he stole from you? If you have evidence, call the cops.” He smiled faintly, sitting back down. “But let me remind you, filing a false police report is a felony.” Tyler James’s crying stopped instantly. He wiped his tears and handed the DNA report to my dad. “Maybe… maybe I misremembered the bracelet.” “But the DNA test doesn’t lie.” My mom flipped through the pages carelessly, then pinched the bridge of her nose. She gave the butler a quick nod. Within ten minutes, the entire ballroom was cleared of guests. “Honey,” she said, looking at my dad. “Care to explain where you got this secret love child from?” My dad froze. To prove his innocence, he dragged the entire family to the private hospital for a rush DNA test that very night. While waiting for the results, Tyler James stayed at the Sterling mansion. The next morning, we were all sitting at the long dining table for breakfast. I was carefully arranging my plate—salad, eggs, and toast—in a precise layout. Based on my calculations, eating them in this exact order optimized digestion. No choking, no wasting, and most importantly, no getting sick. That way, I wouldn’t cost the family any medical bills. Just as I took my first bite, Tyler James started his drama again.

He raised his glass of milk like he was making a grand toast and chugged it. Then he stood up. “Everyone, since I am sitting here, it means you’ve already accepted me as a Sterling.” “In that case, there is something I can no longer keep secret.” Tyler James took a deep breath, looking as though he were making a monumental decision. He pointed at Paul, our butler who was serving the dishes, and then glared triumphantly at me. “Paul, I heard you with my own ears today! You said Arthur stole two hundred thousand dollars in cash from the family safe!” “We have a witness! Arthur, what do you have to say for yourself now?” The platter in Paul’s hands almost slipped. He waved his hands in a panic. “I never said such a thing! Sir, where did you hear that…” Tyler James clapped his hands together, his eyes locking onto Paul like a hawk. “I am the real Sterling heir! How dare you still protect this imposter?” “Don’t worry! As long as you tell the truth, I promise I won’t let my parents fire you!” Paul looked like he was about to burst into tears. “I… I was just whispering to myself! I noticed Arthur’s allowance this month was twenty dollars more than last month, and I was just worried he didn’t have enough money for something…” “It was literally twenty dollars! Not two hundred thousand!” Hearing this, I looked up from my plate, staring at Paul in absolute horror. How did he know I had asked for an extra twenty dollars this month? I was planning to use it to buy a luxury triple-cheese sandwich from a food truck before I got kicked out of the Sterling house! Now my secret was out! Tyler James completely misread my expression. He thought I was paralyzed with guilt. “Look at his face! If he didn’t steal two hundred thousand dollars, why is he looking so ashamed that he can’t even lift his head?” Rachel let out a cold sneer. “Tyler, you haven’t even officially joined this family, and you’re already trying to run the household?” “And stop project your own cheap, narrow-minded thoughts onto Arthur.” I nodded in agreement. Exactly. Even though I wasn’t the real heir, I knew which money was mine to take and which wasn’t. “You! Rachel! I know you haven’t accepted me yet…” “You grew up with Arthur, so of course you prefer him.” “But you have to understand, we are the ones who share actual blood!” Tyler James could cry on command. He wrapped his arms around himself, looking tragically lonely. “The path of growth is always lonely, but I am willing to bear this cross.” I blinked, looking around the room. What was going on? Tyler James felt like a total drama queen. He didn’t seem like a Sterling at all. “Enough!” My dad wiped his mouth with a napkin, his voice cold. “Paul, go upstairs and flip Arthur’s mattress.” Paul looked as if he had just been handed a lifeline. He bolted up the stairs. A few minutes later, he returned, holding a small stack of crumpled bills and coins. “There was a total of three hundred and five dollars taped under Arthur’s mattress. Nothing else.” No one at the table looked surprised, except me. My eyes went wide. “Wait… how did you guys know my hiding spot?” And here I thought I was a master of stealth! “You tape money under your mattress?! Are you a squirrel, Arthur?!” Tyler James shrieked, completely unable to believe that my secret stash was only three hundred bucks. “None of your business! That’s emergency money!” My face flushed red as I scrambled to explain. “What if the family goes bankrupt one day?!” “Bankrupt?” My mom almost choked on her water. “Arthur, we have hundreds of billions of dollars!” My dad slammed his fork down, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Tyler James. “Do you see this? His risk awareness is the highest in this entire family. And you think he stole two hundred thousand?” He offered a patronizing, calm smile. “Tyler, until the DNA results are officially back, you are not a Sterling.” “Try slandering Arthur one more time, and see what happens.” Tyler James’s mouth twitched. He wanted to say something, but ultimately shut his mouth in frustration. Just as I thought the storm had passed… My dad’s phone rang. It was the hospital. “Mr. Sterling, your expedited DNA test results are ready.”

As expected, my DNA had absolutely no connection to the Sterling family. Tyler James looked like a victorious rooster, chin held high as he pointed at my nose. “You. Get the hell out of the Sterling mansion.” “And burn everything in his bedroom. I don’t want any of his cheap trash contaminating my house.” “Mom, give me thirty million dollars. I found a killer startup to invest in. Guaranteed thirty percent return.” He threw himself onto the luxury sofa, crossing his legs arrogantly. “Arthur, you owe me eighteen years of luxury living. It’s time to pay it back.” I nodded quietly, pulling out my little notebook from my pocket and flipping to the first page. Thank God I was always prepared. Ever since I learned how to read and write, I had been terrified of this day. So, I had recorded every single cent I spent. “I calculated it. Over the years, I’ve cost the Sterling family a total of one hundred and thirty-one thousand, one hundred and forty dollars. Don’t worry, I will get a job and pay you guys back every single cent.” I nodded, gave them a polite bow, and turned to grab my suitcase. “Hold on!” Tyler James lunged forward and grabbed the handle of my suitcase. “One hundred and thirty thousand? Are you kidding me? The Sterlings are billionaires! Are you trying to scam us?” “I…” Before I could finish, my mom called out, “Arthur, what do you think you’re doing? This house has plenty of bedrooms. We aren’t going to starve just because you’re here.” “Mom…” “Arthur, your mom is right,” my dad added. “Even though your risk paranoia is a bit much, it actually balances out the rest of this family perfectly.” “Dad…” Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at my parents. My heart felt incredibly warm. “I… I will do my best to keep up with everyone!” And just like that, Tyler James officially moved into the Sterling mansion, legally changing his name to Tyler Sterling. At his official welcome gala, he wore a bespoke tuxedo, walking around the room to schmooze and toast the guests. “Hello, I’m Tyler Sterling. In the future, if you need anything from the Sterling family, just come straight to me.” The guests smiled and raised their glasses. One guy joked, “Well, Tyler, I have a project here that needs a bit of funding. Just two figures. Want to take a look?” Tyler’s eyes lit up. He raised his glass. “Oh? That cheap?” “Bring the contract over. I’ll sign off on it myself!” Standing nearby, I gently tugged on Tyler’s sleeve, signaling him to stop talking. “Two figures” in high society didn’t mean two dollars. It meant two hundred million! Besides, investing in a project required rigorous due diligence. You don’t just sign off on something over a glass of champagne! “Get off me!” Tyler snatched his arm away, shoving me back. “Arthur, you just don’t want me to network with these people, do you?” “Why else would you interrupt when we were having such a great conversation?” My elbow hit the cold marble column, throbbing with pain. Before I could speak, Tyler’s face twisted as if he had just realized something. “Oh, I get it. Are you afraid I’ll tell Dad about you secretly selling off our family heirlooms?” I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. Tyler really was like a dog that couldn’t stop eating trash. Here he was, slandering an honest guy like me again. Does this guy ever learn?

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My boyfriend was a soccer fan, so I went with him to watch the World Cup. While we were lining up in ninety-eight-degree heat to enter the stadium, I went to buy him an iced Coke from a stand nearby. But when I came back, my boyfriend was gone, and my digital ticket showed it had already been scanned. “You went in? Why does my ticket show it’s been used?” I called him anxiously. “Oh, I ran into Maya, the intern from my department. She didn’t get a ticket and was crying outside, so I gave her yours.” “Are you insane? That was the VIP front-row ticket I got!” “Oh, come on. You’re not even into soccer. You’d just sit there playing on your phone. Maya is a real fan. Ever heard of doing a good deed?” I was so shocked I couldn’t speak. “So you left me outside alone for an intern?” “You can watch the livestream anyway. Can’t you just find a patch of grass and sit there until the match is over? Don’t be so selfish.” Listening to the dial tone on the phone, I immediately called my soccer-star brother.

“Hello? Liam, my ticket was…” “Lily, I’m about to go on for the match. The signal backstage is terrible. After the game, I’ll take you to the celebration party!” From the other end of the line came the coach’s voice urging them to get on the field. Before I could finish speaking, the call was hurriedly ended. I stood there frozen, holding my phone. In my hand, I was still carrying the two bottles of iced Coke I had just bought. Water droplets slid down the bottles and dripped onto my shoes. Above me was ninety-eight-degree heat, and the brutal sun was baking the asphalt until it almost seemed ready to melt. “Ma’am, if you don’t have a ticket, don’t block the ticket-checking lane. Go wait in the plaza over there!” A security guard came over and waved me away impatiently. I could only carry the Cokes and retreat to the edge of the plaza, where there was no shade at all. Sweat ran down my forehead and into my eyes, and the sting made me squint. I took out my phone, wanting to ask Zach how long exactly he expected me to wait. The moment I opened Ins, the first post was one Zach had just uploaded. The photo was of the soccer field from a VIP front-row angle. On the right side of the image, there was clearly a girl’s slender wrist. On that wrist was the Cartier bracelet I had spent twenty thousand dollars on for Zach last month. The caption read, “Watching the match with someone who truly gets it. This is what the World Cup is all about.” I was shaking with anger, and I called Zach directly. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. “What now? Are you ever going to stop?” Zach’s voice was full of extreme impatience. Deafening cheers came from the background. It seemed someone had scored a goal. “What’s with the Ins post? You gave my ticket to someone else, and now you let her wear my bracelet?” I questioned him through clenched teeth. Zach scoffed on the other end. “Lily, why are you so materialistic?” “Maya didn’t wear any accessories today. I thought the bracelet matched her outfit, so what’s wrong with letting her borrow it?” “You can’t even tell Cristiano from Neymar, and you think you understand soccer?” I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice from trembling. “I don’t understand soccer, but I understand basic manners! That was my ticket. What gave you the right to make that decision without my permission?” “Do you know how hot it is outside? You’re making me stand out here for hours?” Zach’s tone became even more self-righteous. “I already told you, Maya is an intern, and her monthly salary is only three thousand dollars.” “She can’t even afford official merch. You carry bags worth tens of thousands, so what’s wrong with letting her have the ticket?” “You always act so superior at the office, and now you’re nitpicking over one ticket. Are you jealous that Maya understands soccer better than you?” I could hardly believe what I was hearing. He was being generous with someone else’s things and still made it sound so noble. Just then, a sweet, delicate female voice came from the other end of the phone. “Zach, is Lily mad?” “Why don’t I go outside instead? I really want to watch Liam play, but I don’t want to affect your relationship.” Maya’s voice sounded incredibly wronged. Zach immediately lowered his voice to comfort her. “Don’t mind her. She’s just being dramatic. Stay right here. No one is kicking you out today.” Then he turned back to the phone, and his voice suddenly rose. “Lily, I’m warning you. Don’t embarrass me out there by acting crazy.” “It wasn’t easy for Maya to come here. If you dare come in and cause a scene today, we’re done!”

I tightened my grip on the Coke bottle in my hand, and my knuckles turned white from the force. “Fine, I won’t go in. Zach, take your things and get out here right now.” Zach let out a cold laugh. “Come out? This is Liam’s home game, and you want me to come out?” “Is something wrong with your brain?” “Even if you got on your knees and begged me right now, I wouldn’t go out.” I felt as if a huge stone were blocking my chest, making even breathing difficult. “Zach, if you don’t come out, then don’t contact me again after this.” The other end of the line went silent for two seconds. Then came Zach’s mocking laughter. “Fine, Lily. Don’t threaten me with a breakup.” “If you dare leave today, don’t come begging me to get back together later!” “Maya, let’s go closer to the front. Ignore this crazy woman.” Before I could speak, the dial tone sounded again. I stood under the blazing sun, looking at the bustling crowd around me, and suddenly felt it was all absurd. After three years together, I had thought he was just a little short-tempered. I never imagined that in front of someone else, he could belittle me until I was worth nothing. The security guard came over again and tapped the railing beside me with his baton. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Don’t stand here and get in the way!” I took two steps back, and my vision suddenly went black. As the world spun around me, I heard people nearby cry out in alarm. When I opened my eyes again, I smelled the strong scent of disinfectant. A nurse was taking my blood pressure. “You’re awake? You had mild heatstroke. A kind passerby brought you to the medical tent.” The nurse put away the blood pressure monitor. I propped myself up on the canvas cot and felt my stomach churn violently. “Thank you. How long have I been lying here?” I asked weakly. The nurse checked her watch. “Almost an hour. Hurry and contact a friend or family member to pick you up. It’s too hot outside.” I patted my pocket and found my phone. There were no missed calls on the screen. There was only one message from Zach sitting in my texts, sent ten minutes ago. “Go buy Maya an official canvas tote. She didn’t get one, and you’re just hanging around outside anyway.” Looking at that line of text, I was so angry I laughed out loud. I had passed out from heatstroke outside the stadium, and not only did he not care where I had gone, but he was ordering me to buy merch for his “sweet little friend.” I directly called Zach on FaceTime. It rang until the last few seconds before he finally picked up slowly. “Did you get the bag? Don’t buy the wrong color. Maya likes the black one.” I spoke coldly. “Zach, I have heatstroke. I’m in the medical tent right now.” The other end paused for a moment, then Zach’s impatient voice came through. “Lily, why are you pretending to be fragile?” “Are you deliberately trying to get attention because you saw Maya having fun inside?” I closed my eyes and forced down the urge to smash my phone. “I’m not pretending. I’m dizzy and nauseous, and I can’t even stand steadily.” Zach clicked his tongue on the other end. “Enough. Stop putting on this pathetic act.” “Maya’s ankle got stepped on and it’s swollen. I need to go find an ice pack for her now.” “Since you’re in the medical tent, grab an ice pack and bring it to the ticket gate.” I seriously suspected there was something wrong with my ears. “You want someone who passed out from heatstroke to bring an ice pack to you and your mistress?” Zach instantly exploded. “Watch your mouth! What mistress?” “Maya is an innocent girl. We’re just pure friends!” “Why is your mind so filthy? If your own heart is dirty, everything you see looks dirty!” Maya’s tearful voice came from beside him at exactly the right time. “Zach, don’t scold Lily.” “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have twisted my ankle. I’ll walk out right now even if it hurts, and I won’t cause Lily any trouble…” Zach comforted her with obvious heartache. “Why would you walk? Your foot is swollen like that! The one who should leave is a cold-blooded animal like her with no sympathy!” I didn’t want to listen to this disgusting pair act anymore, so I hung up directly.

But I casually opened Ins, wanting to distract myself. The top trending nearby post was a post Maya had just made ten minutes ago. The picture showed Zach kneeling on one knee with his back to the camera, rubbing her ankle, along with a screenshot of my VIP digital ticket. The caption read, “Being spoiled like a princess by my boss today.” “Not only did I get VIP front-row tickets, but when I twisted my ankle, someone searched everywhere for an ice pack for me.” “Even if someone is going crazy with jealousy, my boss still chose me without hesitation.” “The spirit of soccer is love and peace.” All the comments underneath were praising her for meeting a god-tier boss, and some were scolding that “someone” for not knowing what was good for her. Looking at the screen, the nausea in my stomach got even worse. Just then, a stranger’s account sent me a video. In the video, my boyfriend Zach had his arms around Maya and was kissing her passionately. The provocative caption said, “When are you, old woman, going to get lost? I’m still the one who understands Zach’s heart best.” I was so disgusted I could barely breathe. I forced myself to stand up. My legs were so weak they trembled, and acid was still rising in my stomach. Outside the medical tent, the sky was gradually getting dark. From the distant stage came deafening cheers, probably because star forward Liam had scored again. The crowd began surging like a tide toward the various exits. Dragging my weak body, I walked step by step to the exit of the VIP-only passage. Not long after I stood there, I saw Zach come out carrying Maya on his back. Maya was still holding an official black canvas tote, which Zach had obviously bought for her just now. She lay on Zach’s back and smiled happily. The two of them were pressed very close together. “Zach, this bag is so pretty. Thank you for buying it for me,” Maya said in a sweet voice. “Why are you being polite with me?” Zach’s tone was indulgent. I took a deep breath, walked forward, and blocked their path. When Zach saw me, the smile on his face vanished at once, and his brows knitted tightly. “Lily, aren’t you embarrassed blocking the way here?” “Can’t you see Maya is hurt? Even a good dog knows not to block the road!” I ignored his insults and directly held out my hand. “Zach, shouldn’t you settle the cost of my ticket?” I looked at him coldly. Maya immediately poked her head out from Zach’s back and looked at me timidly. “I’m sorry. I’ll transfer you the ticket money.” “But I’m just an intern, and my monthly salary is only three thousand dollars.” “Lily, all the bags you carry are designer brands, so you shouldn’t care about this little bit of money, right??” Her words sounded like an apology on the surface, but underneath, she was accusing me of bullying the weak. I stared at her innocent face. “I earned the money for my bags myself by working overtime and staying up late, not because it fell from the sky.” “This VIP ticket costs ten thousand dollars. Transfer it to me now. No credit.” Zach suddenly put Maya down and shielded her behind him. “Lily, that’s enough! Are you obsessed with money?” “What is ten thousand dollars to you? Will you only be happy if you make things hard for a poor intern?” Looking at the man I had dated for three years, I suddenly felt he was unbelievably unfamiliar. “Why should I pay for her to watch the game? Am I her mother or her father?” Zach’s face turned ashen from my retort. “Fine, I’ll pay, okay? I’ll transfer it to you when we get back!” “Maya’s foot hurts so badly she can’t walk right now. I need to call a cab and take her back downtown. I don’t have time to argue with you here.” I gave a cold laugh. “You’re taking her home? What about me?” “My car keys are still in your bag. Do you expect me to fly back?” I had driven him here today, and the car keys had been in his backpack the whole time. Zach froze for a moment, as if only then remembering that. He irritably felt around his pocket, pulled out the car keys, and threw them straight at me. “Just drive yourself back. What’s the big deal?”

After the heatstroke, my hands and feet were weak, so I didn’t catch them at all. The car keys drew an arc through the air and fell into the deep grass beside us. “I have heatstroke. I can’t drive.” I looked at him, my voice calm. Zach scoffed, his face full of disbelief. “Keep acting. You sounded pretty strong when you were asking for money just now.” “Maya, let’s go. Ignore this crazy woman.” He reached out and stopped an unlicensed black car parked by the road, then carefully helped Maya into the back seat. Maya leaned her head out of the car window and winked at me. “Lily, if you really can’t drive, I can lend you my bus card.” The black car sped away, spraying exhaust all over me. The sky had completely turned dark. The World Cup venue was in the suburbs, and the official shuttle buses had gradually stopped running. There were fewer and fewer people around, leaving only trash all over the ground and a few drunk soccer fans shouting loudly by the roadside. I crouched in the grass, turned on my phone flashlight, and searched for a long time before I finally found the car keys. But right now, my head was spinning, my limbs were weak, and I did not dare grip the steering wheel at all. I leaned against an abandoned metal cart, trying to calm my rapid breathing. Just then, those drunk men staggered toward me. Two shirtless men reeking of alcohol looked me up and down without restraint. “Chic, all alone?” “No ride home? I’ll give you one.” My heart tightened, and I immediately took two steps back. “No, thanks. My friend is coming soon,” I said, forcing myself to stay calm. The man with tattooed sleeves reached out and grabbed my arm. “Why are you pretending to be innocent, bitch? Anyone wandering around this late is out looking for fun.” “Come on. Have a couple drinks with us.” I yanked my arm free and turned to run toward a place with streetlights. As I ran, I called Zach with trembling hands. “Sorry, the number you have dialed is powered off.” The merciless automated female voice completely shattered my last illusion. I hid in the gap between two buses, trembling all over. The footsteps of those men got closer and closer. “Where did she run off to? That bitch is pretty fast.” I was at the peak of despair and clamped a hand over my mouth, not daring to make a single sound. At the critical moment, a black Alphard van slowly drove over. The glaring headlights cut through the darkness and shone directly on the faces of those thugs. The car stopped steadily beside the bus. The door slid open with a loud whoosh. A tall man wearing a baseball cap and a black mask stepped out of the car. Without saying a word, he grabbed the tattooed man by the collar and flung him away like he was tossing a chick. “Get lost.” The thugs were about to lash out, but when they saw several burly bodyguards in black getting out of the back of the van, they sobered up halfway from fear and scrambled away. The man turned around and took off his mask. Under the car lights, I saw the face that had just been cheered by tens of thousands in the soccer stadium. It was my biological brother, Liam. “Lily, how did you end up like this?” When Liam saw my pale face and scraped knee, raging fury ignited in his eyes. I threw myself into my brother’s arms, and the tears I had held back all day finally burst free as I told him everything that had happened today. After we got in the car, a bodyguard handed me a warm towel and warm water. Liam’s phone suddenly vibrated. He opened it, glanced at it, and let out a cold laugh. “This idiot actually dares to DM me.” Liam directly tossed the phone into my lap. On the screen was a private message Zach had sent to Liam’s official social media account. “Liam, I’ve been your fan for ten years!” “Congratulations to your team on winning the championship!” “Today I brought the girl I love most to watch your match from the VIP front row. She even twisted her ankle for you.” “I hope we can get your blessing!” Liam’s gaze turned sharp, and his fists clenched until his knuckles cracked. “He left you alone in a dark, deserted place just to bring another woman to watch my game?” I dried my tears, looked at that private message, and felt the grief in my heart gradually replaced by anger. “Liam, your team’s celebration party next week is at the Hyatt Club, right?” I lifted my head, my eyes becoming extremely firm. Liam leaned back in his seat and looked at me. “Yes. What do you want to do?” “I want to make him understand that using me to show off comes with a price.”

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I spent eighteen years raising a false cub, while my own cub was sold by my younger sister, and even my husband knew the truth from beginning to the end. At that day, I was cleaning my son’s room when I found a document he had brought home from school. Shifter Bureau — Pre‑Coronation Lineage Profile. I flipped to the section marked *Predicted Species Manifestation*. *Felidae – Panthera onca (Jaguar) dominant traits detected.* I stared at those words. I stopped breathing. I am a snow leopard. My father was a snow leopard. My mother was a jaguar. My husband Caelan was a Cheetah. There is no way our genes could produce a pure jaguar dominant trait. In our entire family, the only one with jaguar dominant blood is my younger sister. Mirabel. I took the file to Caelan. My polite, soft-spoken husband took one look at the page and exploded. “Our son is about to have his Coronation Shift. What else do you want, Sylvana? You’re always suspicious of everything. Are you losing your mind again?” “Caelan.” I kept my voice level. “School predictions aren’t always accurate. I want a formal bloodline test at the Shifter Medical Center.” “Absolutely not.” He slapped me twice. Hard. Then he slammed the door and locked it from the outside. I listened to the lock turn. Then I laughed. Eighteen years of marriage. Eighteen years of devotion. All of it, wasted on a man who’d lock his wife inside her own house. I picked up my phone. I called my husband’s biggest competitor. “I agree to transfer my patents to your company.” …… I hung up. A bitter cold settled in my chest. There shouldn’t be any problems with the school’s documents. The school tracked their half-shifts for ten years — ears, tails, eye color changes, partial markings — then sent the data to the Bureau. The Bureau used it to predict what species the kid would manifest at their Coronation Shift. Every Shifter kid got one before their eighteenth birthday. And Hayden was coming home next week for his. His first full transformation. Not a public ceremony—like a human signing for their first ID card — just official paperwork confirming you’d become an adult Shifter citizen. But now, what should i do? What a fool I had been. For years, big companies had tried to recruit me. I said no to all of them. For Caelan. For Hayden. I stayed in the shadows behind Vicksmore Group. That patent was worth a trillion. I’d never taken a cent of dividends. I sat on the couch until three in the morning. Caelan came home late. We sat in the dark. Neither of us spoke. We had good years once. When he first started the company, I stayed up with him through the nights, rewriting his pitch decks. When I got tired, I’d lean on his shoulder and doze. He used to say, “Sylvana, when the company is big, I’ll give you everything.” The company made it. Then he was never home. When he came back, he was too tired to talk. I said the house felt empty. He said, “You have Hayden.” I’d say I wanted to go to the Shifter Reserve to shift, get some air. He’d say, “Have my assistant take you. I’m swamped.” I stopped asking. I told myself this was what marriage looked like. Passion fading into companionship. Romance into family. Now I realized only one of us had made that shift. And he had turned into something else. …… At dawn, I went to the kitchen. Caelan was already there. He hadn’t cooked in a long time. “You’re up?” He looked back at me. Dark circles under his eyes. “I made breakfast.” Milk. Toast. Fried eggs, slightly burnt. He sat down. Neither of us mentioned yesterday. “Hayden comes home next week.” I paused with my cup halfway to my lips. “I know.” His voice dropped. “Sylvana, don’t overthink this. I promise I’ll spend more time with you and Hayden.” I looked up at him. I’d looked at this face for eighteen years. Watched it grow from boyish to lined. I used to know when he was lying. The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. The way his eyes softened before he told the truth. Now I couldn’t read him at all. I looked down. “So when are we doing the bloodline test?” The warmth on his face froze. Then it disappeared. “You’re really doing this?” His fork clattered onto the plate. Then he looked at me with what seemed like disappointment and walked out of the house. I remembered when Hayden was small. Everyone said he looked like Caelan. No one ever said he looked like me. Not once. From age seven, his half-shifts had always shown pale fur and faint scattered spots. Classic Cheetah cub. Caelan was wealthy. He hired private doctors to run all of Hayden’s checkups. Every report came back the same. **Cheetah dominant.** And me? I wasn’t a geneticist. I was an engineer. So I’d believed it. For eighteen years.

I walked to the balcony and watched his car leave the garage. Then I went to his study. A divorce petition and an asset division agreement sat on the desk. I’d drafted them a year ago. Just in case. The patent that built Vexmoor Corporation — I owned a hundred percent of it. But Caelan had forgotten that. He’d started treating it like his own. My phone rang. My mother. “Sylvana, feeling better?” Her voice was light. “Your sister is coming back next week. Caelan knew you weren’t feeling well, so he booked her ticket himself that she could come back and help you. So He’s giving her a director’s position at Vexmoor.” A director’s position. I worked for the company for years. No title. No recognition. She comes back and gets a office. A few scattered memories surfaced. Caelan and Mirabel — when had they gotten so close? And she was coming back. Caelan arranged it. Mirabel. The name made my eye twitch. “It’s been so long since you two saw each other,” my mother went on. “We’re all coming over for dinner next week. One family together.” I kept my voice steady. “What time? I’ll get food ready.” “Don’t worry about it! We’ll bring the food. You just rest.” She paused. “Sylvana, listen to me. Be warm with Caelan tonight. Men have their pride.” I couldn’t listen anymore. I made a few sounds and hung up. Then I booked a rush appointment at the Shifter Medical Center. The Bureau-affiliated facility. The only one whose results were legally binding. No private doctors. No forged reports. I went into Hayden’s room and pulled hair from his comb. After I sent them to the center, I messaged a private investigator. Check Caelan’s financial records. Everything. Twelve hours later, the lab report came to my inbox. I sat in the study and stared at the file for a long time. Then I opened it. I skipped to the last page. “By official determination of the Shifter Medical Center, Ms. Sylvana is not the biological mother of Mr. Hayden. Tested subject shows Cheetah × Jaguar hybrid (F1) bloodline. Complete conflict with registered maternal snow leopard lineage.” In my gut, I’d known. But seeing it written down was something else. My hands started shaking and couldn’t breathe. I stood up and walked to the window. Eighteen years. I closed the file. I walked to the window. I tried to breathe. Outside, autumn had come to the city. The plane trees were turning gold. Far in the distance, the dome of the Shifter Bureau caught the afternoon light. I’d had a happy family once. And I thought they would be the two people I protected for the rest of my life. My phone buzzed. From the investigator. A few screenshots- Bank transfers. Caelan’s personal account had been sending fixed monthly transfers to an overseas account for at least ten years. The overseas account belonged to Mirabel. Not a small amount. But enough to keep one person living comfortably abroad. The last line of the report said: **Ms. Mirabel owns a property overseas. Purchased nineteen years ago. Paid in full. ** Nineteen years ago. The year I was told I was pregnant. The same year Mirabel went abroad. A dark thought formed in my mind. …… On the weekend, my parents arrived with bags of food. Mirabel came behind them. Cream suit. A gift box in her hand. “Sylvana.” She smiled and stepped forward to hug me. I turned slightly. She missed. Her smile froze for a second, then went back to normal. “Long time no see. I brought you a present.” The dining table filled up fast. My mother bustled around the kitchen. My father and Caelan settled into the living room, talking shop. Mirabel sat naturally in the chair next to Caelan. I frowned but said nothing. At dinner, Mirabel reached for a dish. A sapphire bracelet slid down her wrist. I stopped chewing. I had seen that bracelet at an auction two years ago. Stunning blue. Rare clarity. I wanted it, but the price was too high. Caelan had said, “If you like it, just get it. Money’s not a problem.” I said, “Too expensive. Forget it.” Later, I asked him about it. He said someone else had bought it. Now it was on Mirabel’s wrist. “Sylvana, what are you looking at?” Mirabel noticed my stare. She turned her wrist playfully. “Pretty, isn’t it? Caelan gave it to me. He said it suits me.” Caelan choked on his soup. He looked up at me. “A welcome gift. For Mirabel’s new job.” “Right,” my mother jumped in. “We’re family. What’s wrong with a gift between family? Sylvana, don’t be petty.” I didn’t say anything. I just looked at Caelan. He avoided my eyes. Mirabel smiled again, her voice soft. “Don’t misunderstand, Sylvana. I just think some things look better on the right person. Like this bracelet. Doesn’t it shine more on me than it did in that auction case?” She was watching Caelan when she said it. I knew that look. It was smug. Possession. The way a woman looks at a man she thinks belongs to her. After dinner, Mirabel volunteered to wash the dishes. Caelan stood up and said he would help. They walked into the kitchen together. I sat in the living room. I heard water running. Low voices. Mirabel’s soft laugh now and then. I glanced toward the living room. My parents were watching television, unaware of anything. I stood up slowly. And walked toward the kitchen quietly. The closer I got, the hotter the mark burned—until it felt like my skin was no longer mine. I stopped at the doorway. Just looked through the narrow gap. Mirabel stood at the sink, sleeves pushed up, humming softly as she washed dishes. And behind her— Caelan. They were too close together. Suddenly, Kaylan began to move, his lower body gently and repeatedly bumping against her hips. His hands were placed at her waist like it belonged there. Mirabel let out a series of ambiguous laughs. Then I saw Caelan gradually reach forward with both hands from behind her, cupping Mirabel’s full breasts and gently kneading them. Caelan’s breath brushed against Mirabel’s neck, licking her marks softly. Mirabel tilted her head back slightly, laughing at something when he near her ear again. My breath stopped. Caelan leaned in closer. Their movements seemed to be getting more and more intense. The mark on my neck burned so violently I almost grabbed the doorframe to stay upright. My body understood before my mind did. This wasn’t new. I had felt this for eighteen years. Every time I mentioned it to Caelan, he smiled and said I was just sensitive. “Some shifters are more aware of their marks. Nothing serious.” “But I never felt this before…” “You haven’t shifted in forever. Your body’s out of practice.” He always said that. I always believed him. Now I knew the truth. The resonance wasn’t mine. It was hers. And every time I told him something was wrong, he called me sensitive. Every single time. I took a step forward without thinking— “Sylvana?” My mother’s voice came from the living room. “Can you bring me some water?” I froze. The sound shattered whatever courage I had gathered. When I looked back toward the kitchen again— Caelan had already turned slightly. Mirabel’s smile was still there. As if nothing had happened. As if I had imagined all of it. I stepped back slowly and walked away from the door. My mother called again. “Sylvana?” “Yes,” I answered softly. My voice didn’t sound like mine anymore. Then I went into the living room and sat on the sofa. My mother slid onto the sofa next to me. “Sylvana, look at how helpful she’s being. She came back to support Caelan. You could be a little warmer to her. You’re her sister.” My father weighed in too. “Caelan built that company from nothing. Having family on the inside is good for him. You’re the older sister. Have some grace.” I turned to look at my father. “Dad. Caelan is my husband. Mirabel is your other daughter. Don’t you think they’re too close?” His face darkened. “What are you implying?” “What if I told you,” I said quietly, “that Hayden might not be mine?” Both of them froze. My mother recovered first. She grabbed my wrist. “Sylvana! Don’t say things like that! Of course Hayden is your son. What’s gotten into you?” My father slammed his hand on the table. “Enough! You really do need to see a doctor. Caelan was right.” That was the last thing I needed to hear. Their reactions killed the last bit of hope I had. They only cared about Caelan. About what he gave them. Theynever knew that Vexmoor only existed because of me.

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It was my son’s birthday. While I was waiting for him and my husband to come home, I stumbled into a live chatroom on an online forum. The topic of the thread was: Can a son ever truly empathize with his mother? Beneath the post, the comment section was a sea of a single word: No. I didn’t agree. My son was my sweet boy, my ultimate ally. In every disagreement between his father and me, he was always the one who stood fiercely by my side. Just as I was about to type out a reply, one comment caught my eye. “I’m a guy, and let me tell you frankly: No, we can’t.” “To my mom, I’m her perfect little gentleman, her shoulder to cry on. Truth is, I only play along because I can’t stand her endless nagging and her dowdy, unkempt appearance.” “I’ve known about my dad’s mistress for years. I helped him hide it. Honestly, I get him. You have one woman at home to handle the domestic grind, and a gorgeous, young one outside to offer excitement and status.” The user had attached a photo. An elaborate, multi-course gourmet dinner laid out on a polished marble table, with a designer gift box resting right beside a vintage wine glass. It was the exact image I had texted my son only ten minutes ago. … My fingers shook as I pinched-to-zoom, desperately searching for some tiny discrepancy. But no matter how much I tried to lie to myself, the photo was an identical match. The angle, the lighting, even the tiny sliver of my cream-colored cardigan showing in the bottom corner of the frame—everything was exactly the same. Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from my son. “Hey, best mom in the world! Dad just picked me up. Traffic is absolute hell on the highway, so we’re going to be a little late.” “Dad and I got you a little surprise too. Get ready to be spoiled! Love you!” Reading his warm, affectionate words, a sudden wave of guilt and nausea washed over me. Toby never forgot a holiday. He always bought me gifts. Whether it was too hot or too cold, he’d send me playful texts reminding me to take care of myself. And whenever Glenn and I argued, Toby would jump in to defend me without a second thought, once even nearly coming to blows with his father. How could I doubt my own son over a random post on the internet? If he knew I was questioning his loyalty, it would break his heart. Besides, kids share photos with friends all the time. It was entirely possible that some internet troll had saved Toby’s photo from a public story to stir up drama. The internet was full of clout-chasers like that. Down in the comment section, people were already tearing the anonymous poster apart. “Your mother is cursed to have a son like you. She gave up her career, her life, and her youth to raise you, only to end up with a parasite.” “True or fake, this just proves that sons always view the world through their father’s eyes. They want the domestic servant at home and the pretty young thing in public. Best of both worlds, right?” My mind was a chaotic blur. I wanted to close the app, but the anonymous user had replied again. “If you were in my shoes, you’d do the exact same thing. I’m the one inheriting my dad’s estate anyway. Besides, the woman outside isn’t some stranger—she’s practically family.” “And honestly, I treat my mom great. I buy her gifts, I run interference for my dad. Today is my birthday, and I even got her a present!” I stared at the words, a cold dread pooling in my chest. The comment section was furious. Someone had managed to dig up the user’s main profile picture and posted it in the thread. I stared at the tiny thumbnail. My thumb hovered over the screen, paralyzed. The truth was suspended right there, heavy enough to crush me if it fell. Click. The front door opened. They were home. Toby walked in with a bright smile, immediately coming over to massage my shoulders. “Smells incredible, Mom! You went all out. You’re the best.” Glenn rolled his eyes playfully, calling him a suck-up, before sliding a beautifully wrapped box across the table toward me. “Our boy’s birthday, but it’s the mother’s day of labor. Thank you for everything, honey.” This was the picture-perfect life I had built. This was the warm, loving family I cherished. For a split second, I felt a terrifying urge to delete the app, to pretend I had never seen anything. But my finger finally tapped the screen, enlarging the profile picture. It was Toby’s private social media account. My brain went entirely numb. My heart plummeted into a dark, bottomless void. Tears spilled over my cheeks before I could stop them. Seeing me cry, both of them panicked, rushing to my side with frantic questions. But the moment their eyes fell on my phone screen, the room fell dead silent. Looking at their pale, frozen faces, there was nothing left to ask. I grabbed the edge of the dining table and flipped it. The porcelain shattered against the hardwood floor. A beautifully prepared feast turned into a heap of garbage. I stood in the middle of the wreckage, my voice raw and hysterical. “Who is she?!” Glenn looked at me, a trace of a condescending smile touching his lips. “Lena, it’s our son’s birthday. Don’t make a scene over nothing.” “I had an affair, yes. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore. She’s not a threat to your position.” “I’ve had a long, exhausting day at work. I didn’t come home to be interrogated. Can you please just be a little understanding for once?” The last thread of my sanity snapped. Understanding? He wanted me to be understanding? The year we graduated, I turned down a high-paying corporate offer to help him build his startup from scratch. I drank myself into a stomach ulcer at business dinners just to land his first major contract. Later, to secure his absolute control over the company, I willingly signed over my shares to him. I was targeted by his business rivals and lost our first child in a horrific car accident. And when he told me he wanted a warm, welcoming home—a family to return to at the end of the day—I abandoned my own blooming career, risked my life, and gave birth to Toby. Glenn had knelt before me back then, weeping, swearing: “Lena, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. I will never let you suffer again.” And now, he was telling me to stop making a scene. I slapped him across the face, hard enough to make my hand sting. “Who is she?” I was unraveling, wildly suspecting every woman who had ever crossed our path. “The nanny? The college student we sponsored? Or that new secretary you brought home?” Toby let out a heavy sigh. He stepped forward, grabbing my shoulders with a firm, unyielding grip, and forced me down into a chair. “Mom, seriously? Look at yourself.” “You look hysterical. No wonder Dad looks elsewhere. A man of Dad’s status having someone on the side is completely normal.” “Dad and I have been incredibly good to you all these years. We let you have your way in everything. What more do you want? Why can’t you just close your eyes and enjoy your comfortable life? She handles his public image, you handle the kitchen. It saves you the headache.” “Don’t make Dad angry, Mom. After all, you’re the one living off his money.” I went entirely still, staring at the child I had carried for nine months. Getting pregnant with him had been an ordeal. The morning sickness started in week three and didn’t stop until the day I delivered. I lost ten pounds during the pregnancy. My joints ached, my pelvis felt like it was breaking apart, and I swelled up like a balloon. During labor, I hemorrhaged so badly I nearly died. I gave up my dreams to watch him grow. From his first steps to his first day of high school, I was always there. Because he once said he loved my cooking, a woman who once couldn’t tell salt from sugar learned to prepare gourmet feasts. Every sacrifice felt worth it whenever he smiled at me. I had congratulated myself a thousand times for raising such a sweet, empathetic boy. But looking at him now, he felt like an absolute stranger. The words from the chatroom echoed in my ears. My voice shook. “You knew. You’ve known this entire time?” He answered without a hint of remorse. “Yeah. I’ve known from the beginning.” A dizzying pain flared in my temples. I slipped from the chair, collapsing onto my knees among the broken porcelain, laughing and crying all at once. The doorbell rang. Through the haze, I heard a sharp gasp, and then a pair of hands gently pulled me up. When I saw my sister Megan’s face, filled with deep concern, I clung to her like a drowning survivor and sobbed. She was my only remaining blood relative, the person I trusted most in the world. I had never kept secrets from her. Seeing me in this state, Megan didn’t ask any questions. Her slender, fragile frame stood protectively in front of me as she began yelling at Glenn and Toby. But my gaze froze on her wrist. The platinum bracelet she was wearing was the exact limited-edition piece sitting inside the gift box Glenn and Toby had brought home for me. Glenn’s frequent absences… Toby’s familiarity with her… the comment that she was “practically family”… Every puzzle piece rushed together in my mind, forming a picture so grotesque it made my blood run cold. Noticing my sudden stillness, Glenn and Toby quickly stepped forward, pulling Megan behind them, their eyes locking onto me with sudden defensiveness. The realization hit me like a physical blow. It was her. “It’s you… it was you this whole time.” I had suspected every woman in the city, but never her. Our parents died early. I had worked myself to the bone to pay for her college tuition. During the hardest years of my startup, I sent her a monthly allowance while I lived in a damp basement eating instant ramen. When she graduated, I fought the board to bring her into the company and mentored her personally. She wasn’t just my sister. I had raised her like my own daughter. Looking at the three of them standing together, I choked on my own breath, tasting copper. No wonder she always dodged the subject whenever I asked about her love life. No wonder she rejected every single blind date I tried to arrange for her. She had been sharing a bed with my husband all along. The three people I loved most in the world had banded together to treat me like a fool. Megan suddenly fell to her knees before me. “Lena, I know I’m terrible, but I truly love Glenn.” “Please don’t blame him or Toby. It’s all my fault. If you want to hate someone, hate me!” “Lena, I never wanted to take your place, and I don’t care about a marriage certificate. I just want to be by Glenn’s side.” I looked down at her, raised my hand, and struck her across the face. She was my sister. My baby sister. How could she do this to me? I closed my eyes, forcing the agonizing words out of my throat. “When did it start?” She hesitated, shifting her gaze. “When you were pregnant with Toby.” A loud ringing filled my ears. I stumbled backward. My heart twisted in a pain so sharp I couldn’t stand straight. When I went into labor, I had spent hours trying to call Glenn. Because I couldn’t reach him, my arrival at the hospital was delayed, leading to the severe hemorrhage. He had knelt by my hospital bed afterward, slapping himself, swearing he had been tied up with an important client. They had been together while I was fighting for my life. Before I could strike Megan again, Glenn lunged forward and grabbed my wrist in a vice-like grip. “Lena, that is enough!” “You’re the one who brought Megan into our lives. You should have known what would happen. I’m a man, Lena. Your pregnancy was hard on you, but it was just as hard on me! It was a drunken mistake—I mistook her for you. I’m the one who owes her.” “She has always respected you. She never wanted to compete with you. Every holiday, she’s the one who forced me to come back home to you. You have no right to treat her like this!” He bent down, lifting Megan into his arms. As he brushed past me, he leaned in and whispered coldly: “Megan is pregnant. Five months.” I froze, my eyes dropping to Megan’s slightly rounded stomach. When I hemorrhaged during Toby’s birth, the doctors told me I could never have another child. Glenn had held our baby by my bedside and sworn that Toby would be his only heir, and that I would be the only mother of his children. Now, he was having another child. With my sister. Beside them, Toby’s eyes lit up with excitement. He began ushering them toward the door, turning back to lecture me with a patronizing sigh. “Mom, in the old days, sisters sharing a husband was considered a beautiful thing. Why can’t you just accept it? It’s keeping everything in the family.” “With Aunt Megan’s personality, she’d let you remain the matriarch while she stays in the background. The two of you can share him—one runs the house, the other runs the company. No outside drama. Isn’t that perfect?” “Mom, if you just agree, we can go right back to how things were. I’ll still be your sweet son, Dad will still be the perfect husband, and Aunt Megan will protect you. You’ll still be the envied Mrs. Hall.” “Besides, you’re not like Aunt Megan. She’s a vice president with a career. You’re just a housewife living on Dad’s handouts. You’ve been out of the workforce for so long. If you actually divorce him, you’ll regret it.” I looked at this boy, the son I had poured my life into. I smiled, a cold, empty smile, and slapped him across the face. “Get out.” He clutched his cheek, staring at me in sheer disbelief. “You slapped me?” From the day he was born, no matter how badly he behaved, I had never laid a finger on him. Thinking of how he had helped his father deceive me for years, and listening to his sickening justification, I slapped him again. “I wish I had never given birth to you.” Toby’s face contorted with rage. “With an attitude like that, no wonder Dad prefers Aunt Megan!” The heavy front door slammed shut, shaking the walls. I collapsed onto the floor, unable to hold myself up any longer. I thought I would cry, but my mind was remarkably, chillingly clear. I pulled out my phone and dialed my lawyer. “I want to file for divorce. I want Glenn Hall to leave with absolutely nothing.” The legal team moved fast. So fast, in fact, that by the next afternoon, my family came looking for me. The first to show up at my apartment was Megan. She fell to her knees before me, sobbing hysterically. “Lena, please, I beg you, drop the lawsuit. It’s all my fault, entirely my fault.” “I was the one who seduced Glenn. I made them keep it from you. If you want to hate someone, hate me, but please stop this. You can’t beat Glenn in court. I’m terrified you’re going to end up destroyed!” “Lena, I’ll break up with him right now. I’ll get rid of the baby and go far away. Just go back to Glenn and Toby, please.” The despair in her eyes looked entirely real, which only made it more sickening. How could someone play the victim so flawlessly while stabbing me in the back? I took two steps back, bracing myself against the dining table to keep from falling. Megan immediately reached out to steady me, but the moment her hand touched my skin, she panicked. “Lena, you’re burning up!” “Where is your medicine? Let me take you to the hospital. We need to go right now!” I pushed her hand away. Looking at the sister I had raised, I finally asked the question that had been rotting in my chest. “Why?” Why do this to me? Why betray me? Why make my entire life a punchline? Megan lowered her head, and for a moment, she looked like the little girl I used to protect. Her tears dripped onto the back of my hand. “I love Glenn. I really do.” “He was the only one who treated me like a grown woman. He took care of me when I was sick, and he protected me like a guardian angel whenever things went wrong. No woman could help falling for a man like him.” “Lena, I never wanted to take anything from you. I just wanted to be near him, to give him everything I had. If it makes you happy, I’ll go abort the baby right now.” I pulled my hand back, my expression flat. “Cut the act, Megan.” “If you cared about me at all, you would have never touched him. You wouldn’t have lied to me for years, watching me play the happy housewife while you three laughed behind my back.” “You say you’ll abort the baby if I want? Fine. Go do it. Right now.” She froze. The sweet, innocent facade crumbled instantly, replaced by a cold, calculating malice. “You really are impossible to fool, aren’t you, Lena?” She stood up, brushing the dust off her knees, her eyes flashing with venom. “Yes! I did it on purpose! I climbed into Glenn’s bed on purpose, I won over Toby on purpose, and I made sure they kept treating you well just to keep you oblivious. I got pregnant on purpose. Even the bracelet—I bought the exact same one for you on purpose.” “Why should you have everything? We have the same parents, but you were always the perfect, successful older sister, while I had to live in your shadow. Everyone who looked at me only saw your sister. I wanted to take everything that was yours.” I let out a soft laugh, tears slipping from the corners of my eyes. A great favor breeds great resentment. I had finally learned that lesson the hard way. Hearing footsteps approaching the door, Megan smiled at me with pure malice. “Lena, let’s see who they actually care about.” With a sharp scream, Megan threw herself backward, tumbling down the stairs. She landed heavily at the bottom, clutching her stomach in silent agony as blood began to seep through her skirt. Glenn and Toby burst through the door. Seeing Megan lying in a pool of blood, their faces twisted in horror. Glenn scooped her into his arms, turning a look of murderous hatred toward me. “Lena, if anything happens to Megan or the baby, I will personally destroy you.” Even though my heart was already dead, the sheer hatred in their eyes still stung. My fever-ravaged body finally gave out, and I stumbled, falling down the remaining steps to land at their feet. I reached out, weakly grabbing the hem of Glenn’s pants. “Please… take me to the hospital too.” Seeing my flushed face and rapid breathing, both of them hesitated for a fraction of a second. My chest burned with a suffocating heat. “I didn’t push her. The house has security cameras.” The moment I mentioned Megan, Glenn’s brief hesitation vanished into cold disgust. He kicked my hand away. “Get away from me.” Toby hesitated for a second, looking back at me, but ultimately turned and followed his father out the door. Watching their retreating figures, I closed my eyes. Was I really going to die here, alone on the floor? Suddenly, the front door burst open again. Toby! A desperate spark of hope flared in my chest. He was my son, after all. Surely, fifteen years of motherhood couldn’t be erased so easily. Then I heard his voice. “Dad, she has the same blood type as Aunt Megan. We should bring her just in case Megan needs a transfusion.” The last spark of warmth in my soul died. I struggled weakly as Toby hauled me up, pinning my arms behind my back. “Mom, you brought this on yourself. You owe this to Aunt Megan.” He dragged me out of the house, treating me like nothing more than a spare parts container. I stopped fighting. Every ounce of love I had for him was gone.

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The brakes on my car failed the night before our wedding. With no other options, I had to borrow Garrett’s car to get to the office. The moment I sat inside and started the ignition, the GPS flared to life, its automated voice filling the quiet cabin. “Recalculating default route to The Waverly. After picking up the Little Princess, proceed to Oak Ridge Amusement Park.” The Waverly. That was the apartment complex where Maisie lived. And “Little Princess” was Garrett’s private contact name for her. The blue light of the dashboard cast a cold glow over my hands. After a moment of hesitation, my thumb hovered over the screen, and I tapped on his navigation history. A long list of routes popped up, almost all of them starting from The Waverly. To the shopping mall, to the train station, to the airport, to the amusement park… And there was one route, repeated almost daily. 8:00 AM, from The Waverly to Maisie’s office. 6:00 PM, from her office back to The Waverly. Twice a day, five days a week, for five solid years. For five years, Garrett had been her personal chauffeur, guiding her through the city’s traffic morning and night. Yet just last week, when I pulled three consecutive all-nighters at my office, my blood sugar had crashed so hard my head swam. I had called him, practically begging him to pick me up. He had refused without a second thought. “It’s completely out of my way, Naomi. Besides, doesn’t your company cover Uber rides for late shifts? Just call a car, it makes more financial sense.” Until this moment, the truth hadn’t fully registered. To Garrett, no matter how far out of the way Maisie lived, she was always “on the way.” But for me, even though my office was barely two miles from his, I was a universe away. I quietly turned off the navigation. I slipped the engagement ring off my finger and set it gently in the cup holder. If our paths were never truly aligned, there was no point in pretending we were walking the same road. 1 The muggy summer breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the thick scent of the car freshener. Rose. Maisie’s favorite scent. And the one I loathed the most. It made my stomach twist, a wave of sudden nausea hitting me so hard I had to step out of the car. In the end, I didn’t drive Garrett’s car. I left it parked, caught a cab, and went to work. Once there, I walked straight into my director’s office. “Dave,” I said, leaning against his doorframe. “That transfer to the European division we talked about. I’ll take it.” Dave looked up from his paperwork, pushing his glasses up his nose with a bemused smile. “Are you kidding, Naomi? You’re getting married in two weeks. You’re going to accept a three-year expat assignment now? Does Garrett even know?” I stared down at my bare ring finger, where a faint, pale band of skin remained. “The wedding is off.” “And Garrett won’t care.” Dave’s smile faded. He studied me for a long, quiet moment before nodding slowly. “If your mind is made up, you leave in three days.” We both knew what went unsaid. Garrett’s firm and ours were deeply intertwined; we shared more vendor pipelines than I could count. With his position, he could easily find out where I went with a single question to our mutual partners. But Garrett always insisted on “professional boundaries.” He never asked about my work. Two years ago, during a joint site visit, a heavy light fixture had broken loose from the ceiling and crushed my lower leg. Garrett had stood at the edge of the crowd, his face a mask of detached calm, watching the paramedics load me onto a gurney. When I later asked him, hurt and furious, why he had been so cold, he simply shrugged. “In situations like that, it’s best to let HR handle the worker’s comp. What was I supposed to do? Rushing over would only expose our relationship and give people room to gossip.” Yet, the year Maisie graduated, those strict professional boundaries suddenly vanished. He bypassed the entire recruitment process to bring her on as his personal assistant. At ten in the morning, I began handing over my files. The last project required a sign-off from Garrett’s team. I had expected Garrett to show up. But when the conference room door opened, a junior analyst I barely recognized walked in. My colleague blinked in surprise. “Where’s Garrett? This is the most critical launch of the quarter. I thought he’d want to oversee it personally.” The analyst offered a strained, polite smile as he laid out the contracts. “He took some personal time.” Knowing my relationship with Garrett, my colleague teased, “The workaholic actually took a day off? I heard he’s getting married soon—is he busy with wedding details?” The analyst shook his head. “No. Maisie wanted to go to Disney World. Garrett flew out with her to Orlando yesterday.” The silence in the room became heavy and suffocating. My colleague’s teasing expression froze, replaced by a look of profound, agonizing pity. I didn’t want to look at them. I kept my eyes glued to the contract, turning the pages. The paper was thin, yet it felt like a razor, cutting deep and clean. So Garrett did know how to take a day off. He did have free time. But last year, for my birthday, I had wanted to go to Disney. I spent weeks planning, marking the best spots to watch the fireworks, mapping out every detail. Garrett had barely glanced at my itinerary before scoffing. “How old are you, Naomi? Why are you still obsessed with a theme park for kids? It’s childish.” His way of celebrating my birthday was Venmoing me five hundred dollars. It was his default setting. Anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Christmas—always a flat five hundred dollars. I had once felt conflicted about it, even posting anonymously on a forum to ask if this was normal. The comments were overwhelmingly reassuring: He’s just an old-school guy. Practical. No drama. Some even joked about wishing they had a boyfriend who paid them to exist. At the time, I forced myself to laugh. Now, it wasn’t funny at all. Because Garrett wasn’t an “old-school” guy. Five hundred dollars was hush money to keep me quiet. For Maisie, there were pink diamond necklaces, hand-crafted itineraries to chase the Northern Lights, and late-night food deliveries flown across states if she craved them. He understood romance perfectly. It just didn’t apply to me. 2 By the time the last file was transferred, it was 7:00 PM. I went home and began packing. Mid-way through, I realized how little of this house belonged to me—or even to Garrett. Most of it belonged to Maisie. A pair of plush pink slippers by the entryway. A pink electric toothbrush on the bathroom vanity. Beside it, her signature rose-scented skincare and perfume. The guest bedroom was made up with pastel pink linens, her spare clothes hanging in the closet. There was even an entire room reserved exclusively for her. I had brought it up before. Every single time, Garrett’s face would darken with irritation. “Maisie is my assistant. She manages my schedule and my life. Having her stay over occasionally just makes the workflow easier. Don’t be petty, Naomi.” But she wasn’t managing his life. He was managing hers. I had never seen an executive follow his assistant around, cleaning up her messes and anticipating her every whim. The lock on the front door beeped. Garrett walked in, holding a glossy Disney store bag. Seeing my half-packed suitcase, he frowned. “What are you doing packing this late?” I kept my voice even as I folded a sweater. “Just cleaning out things I don’t need.” He gave a distracted “Oh” and didn’t press further. Unless it involved Maisie, he rarely bothered to pay attention. After a moment, he held out the bag. “You were complaining about wanting to go to Disney. I had a quick business trip in Orlando, so I picked this up for you.” I didn’t reach for it. I just looked at him. “A business trip? Or a vacation with Maisie?” A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by defensive anger. “Take it or leave it. You’re always searching for shadows where there are none. You know how demanding my schedule is right now. How could I possibly take a vacation during a major launch?” Yes. I knew. That was what made it hurt so much. Garrett was a legendary workaholic. For work, he had postponed our engagement photos three times. He had left me to choose the venue, coordinate the caterers, and taste the menu alone. On the day our parents were supposed to meet, he called at the last minute to say a board meeting had run over. Yet, during the most critical week of his career, he had managed to find a free day to take Maisie to Disney. Before I could speak, he brushed past me and went into the bathroom. Soon, the sound of running water filled the apartment. I sat on the bedroom floor for a long time. Finally, I opened my phone, switched to a burner account, and checked Garrett’s Instagram. There it was. A post visible to everyone but me. The kid had a great day today. The photo showed him and Maisie wearing matching Mickey ears, making silly faces at the camera. I had never seen Garrett look so unburdened, so boyishly happy. A comment below read: Didn’t know the boss had such a soft side! Maisie had replied: He’s only like this around the people who really know him. I quietly liked the post, shut my phone, and finished packing. As I zipped the suitcase, Garrett walked out of the bathroom, drying his hair. He was still radiating silent resentment. Without a word, he marched into the study and slammed the door shut. Over our five years together, Garrett had initiated countless silent treatments over Maisie. And every single time, I had been the one to beg for his forgiveness. But tonight, I felt absolutely nothing. Before going to bed, I hesitated, then opened the Disney bag. When I saw the toy inside, a dry laugh escaped my throat. 3 It was a cheap, poorly made plush toy. The stitching was frayed, the eyes were misaligned, and the fabric felt like cardboard. It didn’t look like any official Disney character; it looked like a knockoff purchased for five dollars from a street vendor outside the park gates. I stared at it, realizing what had happened. He had spent the day with Maisie, watched the fireworks, taken the photos, and only at the very end remembered he had a fiancée waiting at home. So he had grabbed the nearest piece of junk to appease me. I tossed it into the trash can, turned off the light, and went to sleep. The next morning, I took a personal day. I went to the wedding venue, the bridal boutique, and the hotel. I cancelled the bookings, paid the cancellation fees, and settled the balances. The staff looked at me with cautious sympathy, but I felt as detached as if I were cancelling a routine business meeting. As I stepped out of the hotel lobby, Garrett’s name flashed on my screen. “Where are you? We had a project check-in this morning.” I watched the traffic rush down the street. “I took the day off.” His voice sharpened. “You weren’t home when I left. Why are you off? This is a critical week for the account, Naomi. Get over to my office right now.” I didn’t want to deal with him, but with only three days left before my flight, I wanted to avoid any dramatic scenes that might jeopardize my departure. Thirty minutes later, I walked into his office. When the meeting wrapped, I stood up to leave with my colleagues, but Garrett called out, “Naomi, stay behind.” The others offered knowing looks and slipped out, closing the door. I had only been in this office twice before. The first time was early in our relationship. I had made him lunch from scratch, wanting to surprise him. Garrett had barely looked at the container before scolding me. “This is a place of business. Don’t come here unannounced.” I had never come back. But now, looking around his sleek, minimalist office, I saw touches of pink everywhere. A pink throw pillow on the leather couch. A half-finished soda and an open bag of chips on the credenza. A stack of brightly colored romance novels tucked beneath a multi-million-dollar acquisition file. Maisie’s presence was everywhere. Garrett didn’t seem to notice the irony. He stared at my hand, his brow furrowing. “Where is your engagement ring? Why aren’t you wearing it?” I didn’t answer. Instead, my eyes fell on his hand. On his middle finger sat a cheap, neon-colored plastic ring. I smiled faintly. “You aren’t wearing yours either.” Before he could respond, Maisie walked in without knocking, carrying a folder. Hearing my remark, she blushed playfully and gave a cute shrug. “Oh, Naomi! We went to a carnival last night and I won those in a ring-toss. It felt like a waste to throw them away, so I gave one to Garrett. You aren’t mad, are you?” Was I mad? I asked myself that. I had already made up my mind to leave. I had always known she was the one he truly cared about. But in that moment, I still felt a cold, sharp prick of anger. Garrett was notoriously fastidious. His suits had to be perfectly tailored, his coffee brewed to an exact temperature, his tie clips aligned to the millimeter. For the wedding, he had insisted on a custom, hand-tailored tuxedo. The fittings had taken months, and when the tailor finally lost patience, I had stood outside his studio in the freezing rain for three hours just to convince him to finish the job. I wanted Garrett to have everything perfect. Yet here he was, wearing a cheap plastic carnival ring that was already peeling at the edges, looking entirely content. I looked away from his hand and met Maisie’s eyes. “I’m not mad. Garrett should wear whatever he likes.” I turned and walked out. As the elevator doors began to slide shut, a hand blocked them. Garrett stepped inside, his expression tight with frustration. “She was just trying to be sweet,” he said defensively. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.” I nodded, a polite smile fixed on my face. “I understand.” My composure seemed to unnerve him. He stared at me, then cleared his throat. “Weren’t you wanting to try that new French bistro downtown? Let’s go tomorrow night. Just the two of us.” That bistro had opened two years ago. The desire to go had long since died, but since I was leaving the day after tomorrow, it felt like the right time to say goodbye. “Okay,” I said. The next evening, we sat at a corner table. But before I could even open my menu, Garrett’s phone buzzed. He stood up without a word and walked out to the lobby. Five minutes later, he returned. Behind him, her eyes red and tear-stained, was Maisie. 4 Garrett pulled out a chair for her, explaining casually, “She’s had a rough day. I figured some good food would cheer her up.” My hand froze on the leather-bound menu. It was a romantic, intimate restaurant. Every table was strictly set for two. Garrett, ignoring the obvious, gestured to a passing waiter. “Can we get another chair here?” The waiter looked at the three of us, his expression strained. “I’m sorry, sir. Our seating is strictly configured for couples. We don’t have extra chairs.” Garrett frowned, his gaze shifting between Maisie and me. The decision took him less than a second. “Tell you what,” he said to me. “Maisie’s really not in a good place. Let me take her to a table nearby. Eat slowly, and once I get her settled and sent home in a cab, I’ll come back and finish dinner with you.” Without waiting for my reply, he took Maisie by the elbow and led her to an empty table across the room. I sat alone in the crowded restaurant. Every time a server walked past, they offered me a look of deep, agonizing pity. The food arrived, tasting like ash. I finished quickly, paid my half of the bill, and stood up to leave. Garrett saw me and rushed over. “Why did you eat so fast?” Maisie followed him, her voice small and trembling. “Naomi, are you mad at me? I’m so sorry for ruining your night… I didn’t mean to. If you’re upset, I’ll leave right now.” Garrett grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Don’t go. I’m the one who told you to stay.” He glared at me, his patience entirely depleted. “Naomi, I am incredibly busy, yet I still made time to take you out. What more do you want from me?” “Besides, we’re getting married in two weeks. You know how much I hate drama.” A cold smile touched my lips. I opened my mouth to tell him the wedding was off, but before the words could form, the restaurant’s fire alarms shrieked to life. Within seconds, panic erupted. The waitstaff shouted for everyone to head to the exits, but the crowd immediately bottlenecked into a frantic, shoving mass. Someone jostled me hard, sending me crashing to the floor. My palms scraped against the hardwood, burning with pain. “Garrett!” I screamed, looking up through the chaos. But he didn’t turn back. Instead, I watched his retreating back as he shielded Maisie with his body, steering her swiftly through the crowd toward the exit. He kept her tucked securely against him, ensuring she wasn’t even touched by the panic. I was left on the floor, trampled by boots and heels as the crowd surged over me. Ten minutes later, the alarm was declared a false trigger. Garrett came back inside, but I was already gone. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Garrett: Where did you go? Maisie is really shaken up. I’m going to take her home. Go back to the apartment and get some rest. This time, I didn’t reply. At 3:00 AM, I boarded a cab to the airport. At 5:20 AM, the first flight to Europe began boarding. Before the plane took off, I sent him one last text. It’s over. The wedding is cancelled. I blocked his number and deleted him from every platform. As the plane climbed into the morning sky, the lights of Boston faded into the mist below. Five years of foolishness, left behind in the clouds. Ten hours later, the plane touched down in Germany. I dragged my suitcase through the arrivals terminal, the cool European air striking my face with a sharp, unfamiliar chill. Standing in the middle of the crowd, a sudden wave of emotion hit me, warming my eyes. When I finally turned on my phone, a deluge of notifications flooded the screen. I ignored them all, except for a message from Dave. He had sent a video file, followed by a voice memo: “Naomi, you’ve really put me in a tight spot this time. This video is currently going viral across the entire company.”

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On my daughter’s very first day of preschool, I received three friend requests on social media. All of them were from the same person. As soon as I accepted the request, she sent me a short video of my daughter, Abby, sitting quietly in the classroom during circle time. Immediately after, another message popped up. “Abby’s mom, is your daughter a Down syndrome kid?” Pressing down the sudden knot of discomfort in my chest, I typed back a calm, measured reply: “My daughter is perfectly healthy. She does not have Down syndrome.” I thought a clear explanation would put an end to it, but my phone kept buzzing with incoming notifications. Deciding I didn’t have the energy for this, I flipped the switch to silent. A second later, the screen lit up with an incoming call from an unknown number. “Abby’s mom, look, I get it,” a woman’s voice said the moment I answered. She sounded rushed, condescending, and entirely devoid of empathy. “Denial is a stage. But we have to face reality here, don’t we? Your daughter just sits there like a statue. She doesn’t talk. If she’s not a Downie, what else could she be?” “Excuse me—” “Preschool is a social environment,” she interrupted, her voice rising. “A kid in her condition needs to be transferred immediately. Otherwise, my son has to sit next to her every day, and honestly, I’m worried she’s going to hold him back. I don’t want him getting dumber just by association.” … Any trace of sleepiness I had left vanished, replaced by a cold, burning disbelief. I had seen people on the internet diagnose strangers’ children with all kinds of conditions based on a single photo, but I never expected that kind of reckless cruelty to knock on my own door. But because this woman was the parent of one of Abby’s classmates, and our paths were bound to cross again, I swallowed my anger and forced myself to speak politely. “Chelsea, let me make this incredibly clear to you. My daughter is healthy. She does not have Down syndrome.” “I don’t care whether you want to admit it or not!” Chelsea snapped, her impatience boiling over. “The proof is right there in the video. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to the rest of us.” “She doesn’t—” “You can’t just hide your kid’s illness just so she can get into an elite academy. You’re putting every other child in that classroom at risk. It’s incredibly selfish!” “Children with Down syndrome have distinct physical features,” I said, trying to inject some actual medical facts into her hysteria. “My Abby—” “I don’t have time for a science lesson!” Chelsea sneered. “Here is your ultimatum: you have three days to pull your daughter out of this school. If she’s still there by Friday, I’m going straight to the director. I’ll make sure every single parent in the district knows your kid is defective. By then, you won’t have a choice but to leave.” The last thread of my patience snapped. “Listen to me,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “My daughter’s enrollment is fully compliant with every standard of this school. She is not transferring. And if you refer to my daughter that way again, I will not be this nice about it.” I hung up and immediately blocked her number. I lay back down in bed, but my heart was hammering against my ribs, making sleep impossible. This academy—the most prestigious, exclusive preschool in the city—was actually founded and owned by my husband, Dan. People with immense wealth and influence spent years on the waiting list just to get their children through the front gates. With a single phone call to Dan, I could have Chelsea’s son expelled before lunch. She wouldn’t even be given the chance to argue. But as I stared at the ceiling, the anger slowly began to cool into a familiar, quiet ache. The sins of the parents shouldn’t be visited upon the children. Her son was innocent in this. I decided to hold my breath, letting the matter rest for the moment, hoping she would simply drop it. The next morning, I gently smoothed back Abby’s hair, looking into her bright, trusting eyes. “Abby, sweetie, if anyone at school says mean things to you, or if anyone makes you feel scared or sad, I want you to call Mommy right away. Okay? No matter what time it is.” Abby nodded, her lips curving into a sweet, gap-toothed smile. “I know, Mommy! I promise!” After watching her walk through the double glass doors of the school, I stood by the gates for a long time, unable to shake the heavy, cold stone settling in my gut. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to her primary teacher, asking her to keep an extra eye on Abby today. An hour passed. Then two. Three. No reply. I tried to soothe my rising anxiety. She’s a new teacher, I told myself. She has thirty children to manage. She doesn’t have time to look at her phone. But when lunchtime arrived, the class group chat began to light up. The teacher was posting photos and short videos of the children eating lunch, laughing, and showing off their bento boxes. I scrolled through the media stream. One photo. Ten photos. Twenty. I went through them again, slower this time. Abby wasn’t in a single one of them. My stomach plummeted. I opened the group chat and typed out a message: “Mrs. Jenkins, how is Abby doing today? I didn’t see her in any of the lunch photos.” Not even thirty seconds later, Mrs. Jenkins replied directly in the group chat for all the parents to see. “Abby’s mom, there are thirty-two children in this class. I cannot spend my entire day taking photos of your daughter. Please stop being so high-maintenance.” Before I could even process the humiliation of the public rebuke, she fired off another message. “Once you drop your child off, you need to let go. If parents are going to text us constantly, we won’t have time to actually teach.” The irritation in her digital tone was unmistakable. Within minutes, the other parents in the chat began to pile on. “Exactly. Teachers are busy enough as it is. They aren’t private nannies.” “Maybe you should ask yourself why all the other kids are sitting nicely at the table while your daughter isn’t in the photos. She’s probably running around refusing to listen.” The mockery felt like physical blows. My fingers shook so hard I could barely hold the screen. Ignoring the chat, I dialed Mrs. Jenkins’ number directly. It rang twice before she cut the call. I opened our private chat to send her a message, but when I pressed send, a red exclamation mark appeared next to my text. She had blocked me. Chelsea’s vicious words from the night before echoed in my mind, sending a wave of pure, instinctual panic through my veins. I didn’t think. I grabbed my car keys, ran out the door, and drove toward the school. The fifteen-minute drive felt like a slow-motion descent into a nightmare. My mind was flooded with images of Abby—small, quiet, and utterly defenseless. When I finally burst through the front doors of the school, the first person I saw was Mrs. Jenkins. The moment she saw me, her eyes rolled back so hard I thought they might stick. “Oh, Abby’s mom. Thank God you’re here.” “Where is my daughter?” I demanded, my voice tight. “Your daughter has been a complete nightmare today,” Mrs. Jenkins said, crossing her arms. “She refuses to follow instructions, she runs off, and she completely disregards classroom rules. Just now, while the other children were napping, she snuck out of the room. We’ve been looking everywhere for her.” She let out a dramatic sigh. “Since you’re here, you might as well take her home. This academy simply isn’t equipped to handle difficult children.” I didn’t believe a single word coming out of her mouth. Abby was a gentle, deeply observant child. She never ran off. She never disobeyed. “If I do not see my daughter in the next three minutes,” I said, my voice deadly quiet, “you will find out exactly what the consequences are.” A couple of other teachers from the neighboring classrooms wandered over, hearing the tension. They looked at me with open disdain. “Oh, you’re the helicopter mom who threw a tantrum in the group chat over a photo, aren’t you?” one of them sneered. “Like mother, like daughter,” the other chimed in. “No wonder the girl is so undisciplined. It’s clearly genetic.” “We really don’t think this school is the right fit for your family,” the first one continued. “Find your kid and take her home. You’re disrupting the educational environment for the normal children.” The sheer, distorted arrogance of these women made my blood boil. “Blocking a parent, ignoring safety inquiries, and publicly humiliating a child—is this the standard of professionalism you pride yourselves on?” I spat. “You do not have the authority to expel my daughter. And if anything has happened to her, I will dismantle your careers piece by piece.” I didn’t waste another second. I pushed past them, running down the hallway toward the classrooms. I threw open doors, my voice growing hoarse as I called out her name, but every room was empty, quiet during naptime. And then, I heard it. A tiny, muffled sob coming from the girls’ restroom at the very end of the hall. Abby. My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe. I broke into a sprint, threw open the heavy restroom door, and the sight before me made the blood in my veins turn to ice. Abby was curled into a tight ball in the corner of the tiled floor, her small frame shaking violently. Chelsea was standing over her, hands planted firmly on her hips. Beside her, several young children—including Chelsea’s son, Mason—were taking turns shoving Abby’s shoulders. “Freak! Retard!” the children chanted, encouraged by Chelsea’s presence. “Don’t touch her! You’ll catch the dumbness! It’s contagious!” “Special needs kids belong in a hospital, not our school!” When Chelsea saw me stand in the doorway, she didn’t flinch. Instead, she lifted her chin, her face twisting into a triumphant, ugly smirk. “Abby’s mom. Excellent timing. I wanted you to see firsthand just how unwelcome your daughter is here.” A primal rage took over. I rushed forward and shoved Chelsea back with all my strength. “How dare you?” I screamed, my voice shaking with fury. “How dare you spread lies about my child and teach these kids to abuse her? I will destroy you for this!” Chelsea let out a sharp, mocking laugh, entirely unfazed. “Today is a lesson she needs to learn,” she said coldly. “If you try to occupy spaces where you don’t belong, this is what happens.” She looked down at her son. “Mason, sweetie, why don’t you show her what happens to liars? Help her understand.” Before I could reach her, Mason lunged forward and threw his weight onto Abby, pinning her to the dirty floor. Abby gasped, her tiny face flushing a deep, painful red under his weight. Yet, when she looked up and saw me, her first instinct wasn’t to cry for herself. “Mommy… I’m sorry,” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “I made you worry.” My heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. I lunged to pull Mason off her, but Mrs. Jenkins and two other teachers who had followed me into the restroom grabbed my arms from behind, pinning me back with terrifying force. Chelsea reached down, grabbed Abby by the collar of her shirt, and hauled her up to her feet. “Look at me,” Chelsea ordered, her voice drop-cold. “Say it. Say, ‘I am a Downie. I don’t belong here.’” “Say it, and maybe we’ll let you stay. If you don’t, I’ll have the director kick you out today.” “Let her go!” I screamed, thrashing against the teachers holding me. Their grip was like iron, their faces completely blank, indifferent to the suffering of a four-year-old. Chelsea smiled at my desperation. She reached out and pinched Abby’s cheek, hard, twisting the skin. “Say it! Say it or I’ll tear your little mouth apart!” Abby’s eyes overflowed with tears, but she shook her head, her voice small but fierce. “My mommy says… my mommy says I’m smart. I’m not a freak… I’m not…” Slap. The sound of Chelsea’s palm hitting Abby’s delicate cheek echoed off the bathroom tiles. My vision went red. The pain in my chest was so physical, so violent, it felt like my ribs were snapping. “You touched my daughter!” I shrieked. “I will kill you! I swear to God I will kill you!” Mrs. Jenkins gave me a violent shove backward. My heels slipped on the wet tile, and I crashed heavily onto the floor, my knees taking the brunt of the impact. A sharp, blinding pain shot up my legs, but I couldn’t care about myself. I could only see Abby, sobbing on the floor. Chelsea waved the other children over. “Go on, kids. Help me teach this stubborn little liar a lesson. She’s sick, and she’s going to make you all sick if she stays.” Encouraged by their parents and teachers, the children swarmed Abby, pushing her down every time she tried to stand. She fell, scraped her elbows, climbed back up, and fell again. Through it all, she didn’t scream. She only whispered, over and over: “I’m healthy… I’m not sick…” Chelsea’s patience evaporated. Her face contorted into something demonic. “You really need to be broken, don’t you?” She lunged forward, grabbing Abby by her pigtails, pulling her head back sharply. Abby let out a piercing, agonized shriek. “It hurts! Mommy, help me! It hurts!” I dragged myself forward on my knees, begging. “Stop! Please, stop! Do whatever you want to me, just don’t hurt my baby! Please!” Chelsea ignored me. She used her fingers to pry Abby’s jaw open. “Say it! Say you’re a retard!” Mrs. Jenkins stood by the door, watching the torture with a faint, satisfied smile. “People like you—trash with no money and no status—don’t belong in a place like this anyway,” she said, her voice dripping with disgust. I looked up at her, unable to comprehend the sheer depravity of an educator standing by during a child’s assault. “This… this is why you’re doing this? Because of a tuition slot?” Mrs. Jenkins chuckled. “Your daughter is taking up a seat that belongs to someone who actually matters. She brought this on herself.” Chelsea squeezed Abby’s jaw harder, the child’s face twitching with pain. “Say it! Say you’re defective!” My mind started to slip into darkness. I was suffocating. This was the baby I had cradled, the child I had never once raised a hand against, being systematically brutalized in a school her father owned. “Stop it! This is child abuse! It’s a felony!” I screamed, pulling out my phone. “I’ve already called the police!” Chelsea threw her head back and laughed. “The police? Go ahead and call them. Let’s see who dares to touch me.” Mrs. Jenkins joined in on the laughter. “Do you think the police will help you? Chelsea’s cousin is a Palmer. And the Chief of Police in this city is Rod Palmer!” The name hit me like a physical blow. Because my maiden name was Palmer. And my father… was Chief Rod Palmer. Chelsea looked at my stunned silence and took it for terror. “Terrified now, aren’t you? Let me tell you a little secret—the Chief of Police is my father!” My brain went entirely blank. My father had only one daughter. Me. How could he have another? Before I could process the sickening implication, the distant, wailing scream of police sirens pierced through the quiet afternoon air, growing louder and louder until they stopped right outside. A moment later, the heavy restroom door was pushed open, and a tall, imposing figure in a decorated police uniform stepped inside. My father. Rod Palmer. When his eyes fell on me, he froze. The shock lasted only a fraction of a second before his face hardened into a cold, unfamiliar mask. Chelsea let go of Abby’s hair and practically flew across the room, wrapping her arms tightly around my father’s arm. “Dad! You’re finally here! This crazy woman and her freak kid are bullying Mason! You have to protect us!” My father looked at me, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth. “Stop making a scene, Natalie. Take your child and go home. Stop embarrassing me in public.” My blood ran cold. I couldn’t believe my ears. This was the man who had held me when I was sick, the man who had promised to protect me. He hadn’t even glanced at Abby, who was bleeding from her lip, covered in dirt and bruises. “This school isn’t the right fit for Abby anyway,” my father continued, his tone clinical and commanding. “Transfer her tomorrow. And don’t come back here.” I stumbled backward, a horrifying truth beginning to assemble itself in my mind. Years ago, when my parents divorced, he had insisted my mother had cheated on him, claiming she was a liar who didn’t deserve custody. He had made me hate her. But it had all been a lie. He was the one who had cheated. He had built an entire second family in the shadows. Chelsea was his secret child. Chelsea saw the color drain from my face. She leaned in close, whispering in my ear so only I could hear: “In this world, the one who isn’t loved is the real intruder. Your mother was the whore. Now get the hell out of our lives.” I looked at Abby, who was trembling so hard her teeth were chattering. For my daughter, I could swallow any amount of pride. I could crawl through glass. I bit my lip until I tasted copper, forcing back the tears. “Fine,” I whispered, looking at my father. “I’ll take Abby and we will leave. We will never show our faces to you again. Just let us go.” I thought surrender would buy our safety. But Chelsea’s grin only widened. “You think you can just walk away? It doesn’t work that way, sweetie. Not after the fuss you made.” “Today, your daughter is going to admit she is defective.” I glared at her, my eyes wild. “Don’t push me, Chelsea.” “Oh, please. You’re only defending her because she has a pretty face,” Chelsea said, snapping her fingers toward the hallway. “Bring them in!” Two men dressed in white lab coats, carrying professional medical cases, stepped into the restroom. “These are my private cosmetic surgeons,” Chelsea purred, her eyes dancing with malice. “Since you won’t admit she’s a Downie, we’ll just have to make her look like one.” The surgeons began to open their cases, pulling out surgical instruments. Abby screamed, reaching her dirt-stained hands toward me. “Mommy! Mommy, I’m scared! Don’t let them cut me!” I went completely feral. I threw myself forward, but my father’s personal security detail stepped in, pinning me back down onto the cold tiles. Despair, thick and suffocating, swallowed me whole. I looked up at my father, screaming until my throat bled. “She is your granddaughter! Your own flesh and blood! How can you stand there and let them mutilate her?!” My father turned his head away, staring at the wall, silent. Just as the cold steel of the scalpel hovered inches away from Abby’s terrified face, the heavy restroom door was violently kicked off its hinges, crashing onto the floor with a deafening bang. Two powerful figures stood in the doorway, framed by the bright light of the corridor. “Who dares touch my family!” I looked up, and the tears finally broke.

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At the annual charity gala, right during the awards ceremony, the host suddenly walked onto the stage leading ten children by the hand. “We have a very special award recipient tonight,” the host announced, her voice carrying clearly through the hushed hall. “A young man who tragically passed away in an accident. But before he closed his eyes, he chose to donate every single one of his organs. It is because of his final gift that these beautiful children are standing beside me tonight.” In the very front row, Viola, the eldest daughter of the Harrington family, scoffed behind her flawlessly applied makeup. “I wonder who was stupid enough to throw away their life just to buy some cheap posthumous fame.” Beside her, our mother, Emily, looked on with a face full of delicate, theatrical pity. “To be torn apart like that… how can his soul ever find rest? His parents must have been absolutely heartless to allow it.” Our father, Chris, patted her hand gently in consolation. He turned to his executive assistant and muttered in a low, ruthless voice, “Find out which family this kid belonged to. Cancel any contracts we have with them immediately. We don’t do business with people who put on these kinds of vulgar public displays.” But the host’s voice rang out again, cutting through the murmurs. “Now, please join me in welcoming the parents of this incredibly generous young man to the stage.” “Mr. Chris Harrington, and his wife, Emily.” … The entire ballroom fell into a suffocating silence. Every eye in the room turned, wide and disbelieving, toward the front row. The host, still wearing her bright, rehearsed smile, urged them forward. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, please come up to receive the award. Your boundless love and sacrifice deserve this honor.” As her words settled, the crowd broke into a flurry of hurried whispers. “The Harringtons? I had no idea they possessed that kind of grace.” “Doesn’t Emily practically live at her church? She’s always talking about keeping the body whole for the afterlife. How did she ever bring herself to let her own son’s body be harvested?” The words drifted over, sharp as needles, piercing Emily’s ears. The soft, patronizing pity on her face fractured, piece by piece. Her skin went an ashen grey, and she swayed as if she might faint on the spot. Clutching Chris’s arm with white-knuckled desperation, her voice trembled. “What… what are they talking about?” “My children are alive and well. Why are they cursing my boys?” Viola’s expression hardened. Her eyes swept over the stage like ice, her voice cutting through the ambient noise. “What kind of sick joke is this? No one in the Harrington family has passed away!” Chris stood, his imposing frame radiating a cold, dangerous authority. “I suggest you think very carefully before you speak another word on that stage.” The host took a step back, visibly shaken by the sheer weight of their hostility. With trembling hands, she pulled up the digital records on her tablet, checking the files three, four times. Beads of cold sweat broke out along her hairline. Finally, her voice wavered, barely audible. “Mr. Harrington… Mrs. Harrington… according to the official medical and state records, the donor is indeed… your son.” “Shut your mouth!” Emily shrieked, her eyes instantly brimming with hot, angry tears. “Austin is in Europe! He’s on his graduation trip. He literally sent me photos of his hotel just a few days ago. How dare you—” Viola placed a firm, grounding hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Mom, breathe. Don’t panic.” She turned her fierce, dark gaze back to the host. “I am giving you one last chance to tell the truth.” But Emily, her voice cracking with hysteria, interrupted her. “Viola, call your brother. Call him right now. What if… what if something actually happened?” Viola quickly pulled out her phone and dialed a FaceTime call. Ring. Ring. Ring. One. Two. Three. The hollow tones echoed in the tense space. No one picked up. Beside them, the air seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on their chests. Emily stared at the screen, her lips trembling so violently she couldn’t form words. Even Chris couldn’t remain still; he leaned forward, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. Then, the screen suddenly flashed. A return call. Viola swiped to answer almost before it could ring. “Austin!” The screen lit up, revealing a young man squinting into the camera, his hair a messy, sleep-muddled crown. He rubbed his eyes, clearly just awakened from a deep sleep, and mumbled grumpily, “Viola? Why are you calling me in the middle of the night? Did you seriously forget the time difference?” Emily snatched the phone from Viola’s hand, her voice frantic. “Austin! Sweetheart, are you okay? Are you safe?” “Mom?” Austin blinked, startled, then let out a soft, charming laugh. “I’m having the time of my life here. What could possibly be wrong? I told you guys to stop worrying. I’m a grown man!” Emily’s tears finally spilled over, a chaotic mixture of relief and residual terror. She laughed through her tears, clutching the phone like a lifeline. Chris let out a long, heavy breath, sinking back into the leather of his chair. Viola took the phone back, murmured a few affectionate reminders to her brother, and hung up. Then she turned her gaze back to the stage, her expression completely devoid of warmth. “Are you satisfied now? My brother is perfectly fine.” “The Harringtons will expect a formal, public apology for this disgusting display.” The atmosphere in the ballroom was thick with impending legal threats. Just as the host stood frozen, helpless, one of the older boys on stage—a child of about ten—timidly raised his small hand. “It wasn’t that brother,” he said, his voice small but clear in the quiet room. Every face in the audience turned toward him. The boy bit his lower lip, looking directly at the front row. “My dad showed me a picture of the brother who saved me. His name was Ian.” A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. “Ian? Why does that name sound familiar?” “Wait, isn’t that the boy the Harringtons took in a year ago? The adopted one?” “I heard a rumor… they said Ian and Austin were switched at birth. Ian was the real biological son.” “Are you kidding? If he was their actual blood, why on earth would they treat him like an adopted foster kid?” I drifted quietly right behind them, a formless shadow in the bright, expensive lights of the ballroom. A bitter, phantom smile touched my lips. They weren’t wrong. I was the biological son. Eighteen years ago, Austin’s biological parents had deliberately switched our hospital bassinets, desperate to ensure their own flesh and blood would grow up wrapped in the soft, gilded luxury of the Harrington name. And so, Austin became the golden prince, pampered, adored, and shielded from the harsh realities of the world. While I was sent to live an eighteen-year nightmare. My foster parents were chronic gamblers. Every time they lost at the tables, they came home smelling of cheap whiskey and took their rage out on me. Leather belts, lit cigarettes—whatever was within arm’s reach. My back became a landscape of silver scars, new lacerations constantly blooming over old, tough leather. They didn’t care if I breathed or starved. I learned to survive by digging through the trash cans behind high-end diners, eating the cold scraps of lives I could only dream of. As I grew older, my foster mother’s eyes began to linger on me with a heavy, predatory sickness. It culminated in a suffocating night when she cornered me in my cramped bedroom. Terrified, I grabbed a pair of rusted scissors to defend myself, scratching her arm. They used that scratch to brand me a monster. They claimed I had tried to assault her. They beat me until my ribs splintered, until I was barely drawing breath. It was only because a neighbor heard the sickening thuds and called the police that I survived at all. The subsequent investigation and DNA test finally dragged my true identity into the light. I was returned to the Harringtons. I foolishly believed my long winter was finally over. But the day I arrived, Austin fell to his knees, weeping, declaring that since the rightful heir had returned, he would pack his bags and vanish. My biological parents and Viola rushed to pull him into their arms, whispering sweet reassurances. Then, they looked at me. Their eyes were cold, filled with a subtle, simmering resentment. They said Austin was an innocent victim too. He was just a baby when the switch happened; he shouldn’t have to pay for his parents’ sins. To “protect” Austin from the trauma of being returned to his biological parents, the Harringtons quietly declined to press criminal charges against the abusive couple. Instead, they handed them a massive, multi-million-dollar settlement to legally sever their parental rights forever. And Austin remained in the Harrington mansion, his status untouched. During all those boardroom discussions and quiet family huddles, not a single person asked me how I had survived those eighteen years. I will never forget the cold indifference in my mother’s eyes when she sat me down. “We have raised Austin as our own son for eighteen years,” she had said, her voice smooth and unbothered. “Announcing your true identity to the public would be too damaging to him. It would ruin his life. So, we’ve decided to introduce you to our social circle as an orphan we’ve graciously adopted.” Now, hearing my name spoken aloud in this crowded room, the Harringtons looked utterly blank. Then, a wave of disgust washed over their features. “How could it possibly be him?” Viola sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “He’s the kind of selfish parasite who would abandon his own mother to save himself. He’d never have the guts to die.” I was already dead. But my hollow, weightless soul still felt a sharp, phantom pang in my chest. My mother remained silent for a long moment, her eyes rimming with red before she finally spoke, her voice hard as granite. “I do not have a son named Ian. My only son is Austin.” The crowd erupted into hushed, scandalous whispers. Seeing the confusion and judgment in the room, Viola stood up, a cold, mocking smile on her lips, ready to lay bare my “crimes” to protect their family name. “I see some of you are confused,” Viola said, her voice carrying beautifully across the silent room. “Let me tell you who Ian Harrington really was. A year ago, on Austin’s birthday, Ian threw a childish tantrum. He demanded that our mother cancel all her engagements to take him skiing in Aspen.” “My mother, always wanting to keep the peace, agreed. They went up the mountain. And then, an avalanche hit.” She paused, her eyes darkening with a poisonous hatred. “My mother’s leg was crushed under the snow. She couldn’t move. And Ian?” She let out a harsh, dry laugh. “He didn’t even look back. He ran away, leaving his own mother to freeze to death in the dark.” “If Austin hadn’t rushed up the mountain with a private rescue team he put together himself, my mother wouldn’t be standing here today.” Viola’s voice grew colder, sharper. “In our home, he constantly targeted and harassed Austin, and we tolerated it out of pity. But when a person is so rancid that they would abandon their own mother to save their own skin, and then vanish without a trace to escape the shame—that person is no brother of mine.” The host, swallowing hard, broke the stunned silence. “So… you haven’t seen or heard from Ian since that day?” The Harringtons hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, Viola scoffed. “He obviously knew he could never show his face in civilized society again. He’s hiding in some miserable corner of the world, running from his guilt.” She added, with raw disgust, “That’s who he is. A coward who runs.” My mother and father didn’t say a word, but the cold finality in their expressions showed they agreed with every word. But the host didn’t back down. “But… have you ever considered that perhaps he wasn’t hiding? What if he died on that mountain?” The silence in the ballroom became absolute, heavy as a tomb. “What if he didn’t run away to save himself?” the host continued, her voice soft but steady. “What if he knew your mother was completely immobilized, and that staying with her meant they would both freeze before help arrived?” “What if he went out into that freezing blizzard, entirely alone, specifically to find help? And what if he met with an accident on the way?” “Miss Harrington, did you or your family ever actually launch an investigation after the incident?” “Shut up! How dare you!” Viola slammed her hand onto the table, her face contorted with rage. Beside her, my mother turned a terrifying shade of white, her chest heaving as she struggled for air, looking as if she might slip into cardiac arrest. Chris quickly wrapped his arm around her, his face dark with fury as he shot a warning, lethal glare at the host. Floating above them, I could only manage a sad, hollow laugh. Even a complete stranger could look at the pieces of that day and put them together. Yet my own flesh and blood refused to see. They preferred to believe I was the monster. They had completely forgotten that the day of the avalanche wasn’t just Austin’s birthday. It was mine, too. It was the only time in my life I had ever gathered the courage to ask them for something, just a single day of their presence. I wanted to feel, just once, what it was like to have a family. When the white wall of snow crashed down on us, burying my mother, I didn’t run. I dug. I clawed at the packed, freezing ice with my bare hands until my fingers lost all feeling, until my fingernails ripped away and my blood stained the white snow. I dragged her out. But she was already unconscious, fading fast. I was eighteen, starving, and weak. I couldn’t carry her down the mountain alone. So I took off my heavy winter coat, my insulated gloves, and wrapped them tightly around her frozen body. Left in nothing but a thin, threadbare sweater, I plunged into the howling wind and blinding snow. I walked for hours. I fell more times than I could count, dragging my frozen limbs through the drifts until, finally, on the verge of total collapse, I stumbled onto a highway and flagged down a state rescue vehicle. I gave them her exact coordinates. They put me in the back of a heated rescue cabin and told me to wait. I sat there, shivering, my heart filled with the quiet hope that I had finally saved my mother. But less than ten minutes later, a massive semi-truck lost control on the black ice. It plowed directly into the parked rescue vehicle. By the time the ambulance got me to the hospital, my brain was dead. In my final moments of life, before they turned off the machines, I used the last of my agency to sign the organ donor forms. I couldn’t keep my life, but I wanted someone else to have the chance to see the spring I would never get to experience. In the ballroom, the guests were exchanging uneasy, suspicious looks. If the host’s theory was true, the Harringtons had committed an unspeakable, tragic cruelty against their own son. Just as Chris and Emily’s certainty began to flicker with a terrifying doubt, Viola let out a sharp, mocking laugh. She stood up, her posture rigid and arrogant, looking down at the stage. “I don’t know what competitor or enemy paid you to pull this pathetic stunt tonight.” “But let me make one thing clear: I have absolute proof that Ian is alive.” Chris and Emily looked up at her, their eyes wide with shock. Viola took a deep breath, turning to her parents, her voice dropping to a softer, reassuring tone. “Mom, Dad… I’m sorry. I kept something from you because I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.” “Shortly after Ian vanished, I received a letter from him.” “In that letter, he admitted he didn’t regret running away to save his own skin. But he knew the family would never forgive him, so he had no intention of ever returning.” Viola’s voice became cold and flat. “He said that since he was still technically a Harrington heir, he wanted a twenty-million-dollar buyout. He promised that once the money was wired to his account, he would sign the official papers to sever all ties and never cross our paths again.” She lowered her eyes. “I wired the money, and I kept the letter a secret. I just wanted to spare you both the pain of knowing how rotten he truly was.” Emily’s eyes instantly filled with tears of betrayal and rage. Chris’s face contorted with a quiet, dangerous fury. He clenched his fists, his voice shaking as the words forced their way through his teeth. “Unbridled, parasitic trash. We should have left him in the gutter where we found him!” Hearing Viola’s explanation, the whispers in the ballroom shifted back. The pity evaporated, replaced by disgust. “What a sociopathic leech!” “The Harringtons pulled him out of poverty, and he extorts them for twenty million?” “Some people are just born rotten.” The hateful words rained down on my memory like hot ash. But before the slander could settle, the little boy on stage spoke up again, his voice trembling with a fierce, stubborn courage. “You’re lying! Stop saying bad things about Ian!” With tears streaming down his face, he pointed directly to his own bright, clear eyes. “My dad told me! My corneas came from Ian. I can see this room, I can see the lights, because of him!” Then, the other children on stage began to step forward, their voices overlapping in a chorus of defensive pride. “He gave me my kidney!” “I have his liver.” “Ian’s heart is beating inside me right now,” a younger boy said, placing his small palm firmly over his chest. His voice was small, but it carried the weight of absolute truth. “The doctor told me that this heart used to belong to a very, very kind boy who wanted me to live. He wasn’t a monster. He couldn’t be!” I watched them from above, my weightless spirit bathed in a strange, sudden warmth. Because of me, these children were running, laughing, and breathing. They were looking at a world they might have never seen. A soft, glowing peace bloomed in my empty chest. The guests in the ballroom were completely torn now. The children’s desperate testimonies had shattered the narrative. The truth had become a tangled, terrifying labyrinth. Emily gripped her husband’s sleeve, her lips bloodless and shaking. Viola felt a sudden, icy panic clawing at her throat. A suffocating weight pressed down on her chest, a premonition she desperately tried to shake off. She forced herself to maintain her composure, her face hardening into a confident, dismissive smirk. “Fine,” Viola challenged, her voice echoing through the silent hall. “If you are all so certain that Ian is dead… where is his body?” She looked around the room, absolute triumph in her eyes. “He only donated his organs. A body doesn’t just vanish into thin air. Where is it?” The children on stage looked at one another, their faces falling into confusion. They didn’t have an answer. Viola’s smirk widened. “I thought so. There is no body. You’ve all been paid to lie to us!” The silence in the room stretched, tight as a piano wire. At that exact moment, a sharp ping echoed from the host’s phone. She looked down at the screen, and her eyes went wide, her pupils shrinking in absolute horror. Slowly, she raised her head, her hand trembling so violently she nearly dropped the device. “Wait,” the host whispered, her voice cracking. “I… I know where Ian’s body is.”

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